


Dangerous Obsessions

by TheAnderfelsOne



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Crush at First Sight, Drama & Romance, Jealousy, M/M, Much more than the summary bargains for..., Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 134,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnderfelsOne/pseuds/TheAnderfelsOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when lust at first sight, turns into love, turns into... obsession...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The man

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So.This is my first try at writing which mean this is a new born fic !! I've been a sucker for this fandom and specially for this couple, soo I decided to try my hand at a little fantazy i had of some total stranger totally crushing on Anders. In the most romantic and dangerous ways!!  
> English is not my mother language that's why if you just enjoyed the plot without worrying too much about grammatical mistakes, i'd be happy enough :)  
> thank you !!

Ugh… They were going to the to the Blooming Rose. For some investigation.

“If someone tries to hire me again, I'm going out,” but Hawke spared him a cheap smirk only.

The brothel was crowed that night. The music was so very loud and they had to bump shoulders to pass through the main hall. Some elves were dancing on tables while others preferred to dance directly on their patrons’ laps… Anders just hoped he’d go unnoticed that time while Hawke made his way to search for someone in charge of the place and thus left them to simply wait in the middle of the crowd. Fenris went to stand in a corner, arms crossed protectively around his chest and avoiding eye contact.

“Hey, you there,” a deep voice resonated from behind where Anders was standing.

_Maker, a new time record._

Anders turned ever so slowly, trying to think of a way to fend it off politely, but, honestly, finding none.

There was a table of three people. A young blond who looked like he barley passed the age of the glass he was sipping, keeping an eye on him from under the rim of his pint, a dark haired one on his left, smirking under his beard quite obscenely for Anders' liking, and finally the third one, who was staring at Anders. That one seemed to be the owner of that voice.

He looked more mature, probably around his age, or maybe Hawke's - even if there wasn't much difference between their ages - his features were somehow hard and soft at the same time. Brown hair pushed back in a flat little ponytail, and just few short strands falling on his forehead and framing face. His deep green eyes dancing all over Anders, he had stubbles covering half his cheeks and perfectly shaped lips that curved into a lopsided broad smile when Anders had turned around to face him.

“How much for you?” And possessed a deep smoky voice.

Simple and straightforward. Anders was almost glad this one didn’t start courting him.

“I am sorry, I don’t work here,” as straight and simple in return. Anders was about to turn away then, but that didn’t desist the man from smiling even more nonetheless.

“Does it really matter? I'm still interested,” the man retorted, not even fazed or surprised. In fact, if Anders wasn’t mistaken, the man looked even more willing to get closer.

Anders let out a heavy sight. He hated it when they got stubborn-headed. But then, the stranger stood up from his chair and shortened the distance between them in two steps. He was as tall as Anders, but something about his broad shoulders and wide looking chest made the apostate take two steps back. He was still smiling cheekily, and dropped his voice just a bit lower, looking at Anders from under his eyelashes. “I don’t really care if you’re not for sell; you’re really my type, so maybe we could go somewhere quieter to discuss it, huh? What do you think?” _Maker’s breath, what?_ All this was too fast for him, as the man was pinning him hard with his green eyes… And when did he slide his hand behind his back?

He didn’t want to make a fuss, he really didn’t. He was a bloody apostate after all, and there might have been templars in there if he tried to call on a spell to defend himself. Those bloody templars were, after all, very famous around the brothel. And Justice was starting to have enough. But Justice would just have to chill out because there was no possible way he’d let him take over in such a place.

“Ser, I'm not interested, so please-”

“I like your voice. Not from here, right?” The stranger's hand was slowly sliding up and down his spine, his eyes never leaving Anders'.

Oh maker, that was starting to get serious. He tried to glance away in Hawke direction automatically, but his stare only stumbled upon Fenris, who was glaring daggers at him from under his white bangs.

_Great,_  Anders thought.

“I would just like for you to give me a shot. You know, I'm pretty sure you won’t regret it,” whispered the dark haired man against Anders’ cheek.

“I will make you feel real good, trust me,” he kept enticing as his hand was traveling in a slow caress down on his ass.

“No, no, Ser, would you please let go off me.” He was murmuring too because that was really too embarrassing to believe in. Why was the man so persistent anyway!

But you might also be talking to Andraste’s statue at this point. The man seemed to be deaf to all but his own talk. His face so close to Anders’, sultry whispers dropped directly into Anders’s ear alone, while the hand on his ass moved ever so slowly up and down.

And Anders noticed that the man wasn’t even drunk. Because of course he would have noticed such a thing, when the man got practically glued to him by that moment.

Yet, the next move took Anders by surprise.

The stranger’s other hand that wasn’t busy rubbing Anders' ass took the mage’s hand and put it shamelessly against his crotch. Then he began to breathe in a very, very low sensual tone, “You feel it,” he moved Anders palm up and down, “It’s all of your doing…”

And Anders couldn’t help but blush furiously. It wasn’t that his hand was feeling up the man’s much obvious hard on or that it was happening in such a public place, while people were going back and forth around the both of them. Probably enjoying the view… The matter was just that it felt so long since the blond apostate had last done such a thing.

And also because, Andraste’s flaming tits, it was big.

“Please, blondie, let’s go somewhere more private…” Anders was utterly stunned. He had never seen someone so… smug, so shameless and impudent, and he also managed to spoil his innocent nickname… and, oh Maker, what was he fucking doing with his hand…

“N-no… I said stop…” Anders stuttered. But the bigger man hummed, fucking _hummed_ against his ear as if Anders had started to sing his favorite ballad, and he could _feel_ the cheap smirk still plastered on that man’s face.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?!” Anders jumped off his skin upon hearing the familiar voice.

Hawke was standing before them, confused and frowning hard. His eyes were running wildly over what must have looked like the worst compromising position Anders had found himself in for a very long time. How could he even not, when both their hands were elsewhere, but in the right places.

“Hawke!” Anders hissed, pulling away as if being burned, suddenly feeling very conscious of the position he was in. _Shit, shit, shit._ “Hawke, I’ve told you that…” his voice broke off. He didn’t know what to say, and he was so ashamed of himself right now…

“I know.” Hawke's eyes softened at once as he took a few steps towards the mage. And suddenly his mouth pulled into a very conspiratorial smile, and the next thing he did was hooking his strong arm around Anders’ slender waist.

“I know, I shouldn’t have left you alone, it’s all my fault,” a second later, he bent his head and kissed the mage firmly on the lips, making Anders swallow up his gasp, Fenris’ eyes widen in surprise and confusion and perhaps something else, and the other man’s eyes narrowed into green slits, mouth slightly open.

“Sorry, Messer, but this one is already taken.” And with that, he flashed his authentic smug smirk at the stranger, not-so-shit-eating confident then.

But…did Hawke just kiss him? Did it really happen? Andraste's tits, he was so dazed.

“I didn’t know he had a partner?” The man returned to his casual deep voice, but did not stop glaring suspiciously at Anders and Hawke and the hand of the latter around the lean hips.

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left him alone, I understand how popular he can be with his pretty face,” he added slowly, “But he's taken.” Then Hawke did that intimidating thing with his eyes that served to say ‘you had better behave if you know what’s good for you’.

He called out loud a “come on let’s go”, turned on his heels, dragging Anders who was still firmly tucked under his arm, and headed out, Fenris following quietly from behind.

Later on that day, Hawke apologized for what he did in the Blooming Rose. He said that it was the easiest and quickest way to sort out the situation with no one getting potentially hurt. And Anders understood. He also apologized for the turning that the situation took and explained he just didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention and also that the man took him by surprise with his… extreme forwardness.

Hawke smiled simply. And before he exited the clinic, he added, “And anyway, it wasn’t that unpleasant.” with a sly wink, and then he was out.


	2. The templar

Hawke came to the clinic asking if Anders would like to come with him to the Gallows to report back to Thrask. And normally he’ll refuse blindly; but he liked how Hawke thought of him, and asked permission first. After all he’s an apostate, and you don’t ask a wanted man to accompany you to the prison. And Anders knew that being with the warrior is safe. But more than security, he liked the man’s simple company.   
  
So here he was, shifting his weight behind Garrett, as this latter was speaking to the templar in the courtyard of the Gallows. But as they were finally finished and him and Hawke were heading the void out, a voice called out, “Messer Hawke!” The knight captain. Cullen. Anders' face snapped the other way, informing Hawke in rushed words that he’ll be over there by that stall waiting for him, and quickly trotted away from Hawke’s side. He didn’t know what would happen if Cullen sees him. He’ll recognize and remember him, that he was certain.   
  
So he was facing the stall of staffs, not really focusing on the merchandise, just staring at the nowhere. Until the Maker decided it was time to have fun a little.  
  
“Hey, you there!” A voice called from somewhere beside him; and Anders’ brain didn’t have time to link this particular voice to its owner before his brain decided it was too late anyway. The real thing was worse than anything his brain could have come up with.   
  
A templar. That man from the blooming rose. The stranger who fondled his ass and made him palm his crotch_ No. It's him. He wasn’t about to forget that face and …It’s a  _templar…_  
  
Oh maker’s breath. Oh bloody Maker this man was actually a templar.   
  
Anders could have repeated this trail of words in his head all day, if it wasn’t for… the templar, who decided to break the awkward silence.   
  
“Its really you !” he flashed that big dimpled white toothed smile of his and the green in his eyes suddenly brightened as if he saw his old long friend. “I thought I will never see you again! But you came to me to the Gallows themselves, ha!” Ha, indeed.  
  
Anders at this point continued to stare, delicately  _heavy breathing._  
  
_Calm down Anders, he doesn’t know who you are. He didn’t know back then so he has no reason to know now. Oh thank the maker I left my staff at the clinic. Hawke told me it will be quick and he’ll escort me back to Darktown so there will be no trouble at all and …Oh Hawke where the fuck are you !!_  
  
He glanced over the man’s metallic shoulder to where Hawke was still talking with that blighted Cullen.  _Fucking… blushing virgin._  He muttered in his mind.  
  
When he saw there was no response from the other part ,and that Anders was totally glancing past him, the templar continued more hesitantly now, “So…what are you doing here anyway?”   
  
That got the blond mage attention back. Shit. ”Humm… actually I… I came with…” he nodded his head slightly toward where Hawke was standing and that made the other templar turn over.  
  
“Oh, That’s…You came with your lover.” He looked back at him and his eyes narrowed lightly as he added carefully, “He’s your lover right?” 

Anders quickly thought. He didn’t want to drag Hawke into this again. It will start to look really silly. But again, the warrior said it was the only way to get rid of the attention. Pretend to be not interested will just fuel the desire in some to try harder. The best way is to pretend being already taken. Already have someone we love. Somewhere, he knew Hawke will understand. Yes, Hawke will understand him. He always do…  
  
Thinking of Hawke_ just a few feet away, gave him a surge of confidence, so he looked the templar straight into his eyes and responded, “Yes, he is. It's my lover.” Quick. But was it convincing? Not as much as Hawke did last time.  
  
The templar fixed Anders for a few seconds. Wondering maybe if he should buy it. Of course he would. Hawke kissed him in front of him after all.   
  
Suddenly the mysterious man took a step forward. It took only a step to stand in Anders' personal space.

He was looking deeply into Anders pools of Honey and seemed almost lost in them. Anders felt a shiver running down his sweating spine.  _Calm down_ Calm down Justice…He doesn’t know.He doesn’t know. Maker fucking breath but they’re in the fucking Gallows._    
  
But what came next pulled Anders out of his trail of worrisome thoughts.  
  
“I still can't forget you…Forget those amber eyes of you… I know I shouldn’t but…I really want to spend a little time with you.”  
  
Oh…  
  
_Ooh!_  
  
He took another step closer if that was even possible, he put his gauntleted hand on Anders right biceps as if to make a statement, and the next words came in low murmur to Anders ears only. “I don’t really care about your boyfriend. But I'm just asking for some time with you. Just once - alone.” He whispered hotly, “I can be really obstinate you know…” he said while tracing his index finger on the curve of Anders lower lip. “Am not usually like that, but what can I say, I can’t let this opportunity slip again. It will obsess me! Give me a chance. Please?” he said, green never leaving warm Amber.  
  
Anders was mortified by now. Everything seemed to stop. It was the effect of those poison green eyes pinning him where he stood. And also this earnest face and voice.  
  
This man…This man was unreal. What did he do to deseve that! He always thought he was dressed in the most unfashioned and casual way possible, all planned ahead to avoid the maximum of attention. So how could this be happening. And it had to be a templar of all people. And he had to be_ what did he say, obstinate? what in the void did he mean by that exactly? And more importantly, where is Hawke!   
  
“So…? Would you give this handsome templar a little chance?” The templar aksed, slightly tilting his head on the side, dimples showing almost effortlessly.  
  
This man could become bad news. He didn’t need a templar obsessing over him. For there is not only him in the frame picture. And an obstinate templar would mean he will not stop at this. He might start to stalk him. And sniffing around will means dangerous things like sniffing around the resistance underground. No he must absolutely not gamble with this.   
  


***

  
  
Yes, Anders really liked Hawke’s company. The man wormed into his life and became more than Anders could have imagined. A friend. A supporter of his cause. He welcomed himself into his life and with him his lot of odd friends so fast and easly. 

But that day on their way back from the Gallows, Anders didn’t had the pleasure to enjoy Hawke's company as always. He was too busy thinking of what he was doing.   
  
_“All right. I’ll… meet with you.”_  
  
_“Really! Oh you won’t be disappointed I’ll guaranty you . So…may I have the name of my date…”_  
  
_“…how about you find it out next time we see each other... So you have something to think about…”_  
  
_“Ooh, I already have plenty to wonder about, but it’s all right, for now then I shall call you… my irresistible secret date.”_  
  
Yes. Anders was worried about the way he welcomed people so easily those past few days.   
  
After all letting someone into your home means letting him enter your life.  
  
And we never knows what nasty secrets they could bring with them.  
  
We cannot forsee, the harmful influence they might have on the people we start to hold dear.  
  
We can never imagine the gossips their presence could trigger…  
  
Yes, Anders should beware of the persons he welcomes into his life lately,  
  
Because some,  
  
_“And this handsome templar in front of you, is knight lieutenant Hayden. But I’d like for you if you just call me, Hayden.”_  
  
will refuse to leave…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was good enough *x*  
> I wanted to give the man a high ranked post among the Order, so I thought what comes right behind captain? must be lieutenant !  
> Thanks a lot for reading!!


	3. The date (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me so long, it's crazy!! (I can't deny I've been lazing around too) but I really wanted to continue this because in my head, it's just getting started !!  
> Soo thank you for reading and sorry for the mistakes, I'm always in the middle of correcting them even after posting! So bear with me *x*

The plan was simple. Kill the Templar when the occasion presents itself neat and without commotion.

This is why he agreed to meet him. To… have a date with him if we’d like. This is what Anders told himself when he turned off the light of the lanterns that day, as he left Darktown.

A date with a templar. Even his old circle self would have laughed at it. And those times where the only ones he had tumbles with templars.

But here he was. On the verge of wanting to change things for the mages, member of an underground resistance against the templars, with a spirit who had enough of the filthy corruption he'd seen so far by the hands of the templars, he was going to have a dinner with a templar.

Why? Why was this happening now? Anders had no idea. But he raised his head to the night sky and scowled. _I hope you’re having fun._

  _***_

 

The man in question was already waiting for him by Hightown’s gates. Clad in fine rich clothes that did nothing but accentuate his body and handsome features. Dark pants and knee long leather boots, a pale blue shirt with a fine long black coat over it. His neck-long hair were left loose and neatly brushed back behind his ears. This templar might be high in ranks but he was dressed just a point casual. As if he didn’t want to impress on the first date. After all, Anders didn’t look like the type to go for the superficial things such as the last fashions and the wealth of a man. Hayden didn’t want to, but still tried to remember how his blond date’s _lover_ was clothed. And it was nothing big deal. He seemed almost poor. In fact Hayden noticed that the man who attracted his attention at first sight was also close to poor too. Maybe they were from Lowtown. Yeah they probably were. He would otherwise had noticed the man if he lived in Hightown or was part of a known opulent family.

But Hayden didn’t care at all. The man could live in the sewers itself, he’s still the most beautiful face he’d ever seen in Kirkwall so far. And even his faded patched up layers didn’t conceal his stunning beautiful amber eyes, sun like Blond long strands, and pale flawless skin. It was simple. The man was like a ray of sun. He wondered if the man can shine under the sun. He chuckled at himself, but he was definitely not pulling up that line on him. And he felt the man. _Maker that ass was nice_

Shit he should stop.

Anders approached him. It was dark and the streets were empty of all but the tall, straight frame leaning against the wall. The templar greeted him with a seductive toothed smile even as Anders was still few miles away from him. He was excited to see the man again. He pulled himself off the wall and closed the path between them.

Anders was wary. He did see the templar from under his eyelashes but when the man suddenly made a move toward him, his senses suddenly awakened. His fingers twitched and his breath caught in his lungs.

“Hey there.” The templar smiled genuinely. Those bright green eyes explicitly dancing again over Anders’ frame. And Anders would swear he never saw templar’eyes showing so much…expressions. 

“Hello.” Anders offered flatly. He was wiping his palms on his coat and Hayden noticed that the man was wearing the same clothes he saw him with, twice. A sudden rush of discomfort took the templar by surprise. The man must really be short on coin. And Hayden felt a sudden _need_ to spoil this beautiful man if it could be for one night. He’s going to indulge his very bones. And this simple idea made him smile positively from ear to ear to himself.

“How are you?” Hayden asked as he started to walk.

“Good.” Anders short replied as he fell into step with him.

He hoped it was going to start a conversation or some small talk, and he knew a half hearted answer when he heard one. Yet he didn’t let it put him off.

“Where are we going?” Anders voiced quietly.

“It’s a date right? So we’re going to have dinner of course.” He smiled warmly at him. “I thought it would be a nice idea. It doesn’t bother you right?” He didn’t know how a dinner could be bothersome but he started to be never sure of things around this particular man.

“Dinner… here, in Hightown?” Ander casted discomforting glances around him.

“Uh_” He hated this situation, he hated this night. But before his lips shaped the next words, The man beside him broke in, “Hey. _I_ asked to see you again. So whatever we’re going to do, you don’t have to worry about anything. Tonight, I take care of you. Don’t forget that.” Hayden wanted to add, ‘I know you might be broken but It’s alright I don’t care’ and also ‘I wanna spoil you pretty face until you feel sick’ and ‘I will take care of you tonight’… Though the last one did escape his lips, but he regretted nothing.

Anders eyed him with a look Hayden didn’t quite know how to interpret.

But his blond date said “Fine.” And Hayden decided at least that’s a good start.

***

 

They stood in front of an inn called ‘The White Candle’ and Anders wondered if they steeped into an Orlesian corner of Kirkwall. Hayden opened the door for him to enter and Anders stepped inside.

 And he wondered when was the last time he felt like a lame wretch around a place.

The white lightning was doing him no good. The place was illuminated as if it was still mid morning, and he hated that anyone could see his every details. And he felt almost sorry for dirtying the polished white marble of the entrance, where he could see his own reflexion if he ducked his head down. All around were only Tables of two. He supposed this place was only for couples. Were there even places like that? And even though the place was certainly filled with what he supposed were wives and husbands, it was all quite serene. Whispers and murmurs were the only things Anders could hear. That, and the strings of a soft harp playing in the center of the Inn.

“Before we make any step further_” the voice of the templar beside him startled Anders from his dreamy gaze. Hayden noticed it and flashed his set of white teeth seductively. “I think it’s time to know your name.” He smirked at Anders. “You know, in case I want for the bard to use it in romantic ballad.”

Anders was so taken aback by this place, he snorted. He actually amusingly snorted at the comment.

He took a moment and chewed on his bottom lip. He turned to gaze around him again, taking in the warm sparkling ambiance that awaited him. In the smell of a nearby soup brought to a table close by. And finally, in the man who brought him here. In the templar.

“Anders. My name’s Anders.” He fixed the man as he spoke his name. Waiting for recognition, a blow, a Silent.

But to Anders’ disappointment, none of those came. Only those frustrating, unsettling smiling greens.

“ _Anders…_ ” He felt the man rolling his name on his tongue as if he was tasting it. And the realization of what he just did struck him like the back of a hand. What in the Maker’s name did he do. He just gave his identity to a templar! Why did he do that? Oh maker now he really have to end it soon.

“I like it.” Anders blinked.

“What?”

“I said I like it.” Hayden smiled softly. “Come on then. Let’s get out of the entrance. People will start to find us suspicious. We don’t want to look suspicious to a lot of rich noblemen now, right!” he laughed.

 _No we don’t want to indeed_ , he answered him in his head…

 A man in a fancy black suit showed them to a quiet table at the far end of the restaurant. Anders wondered if they were just lucky to be sited in such a conventional table or if Hayden's little whispered small talk with the man had something to do with the nice choice of place. They were still surrounded by tables all around, but here, they were still a bit isolated. Ideal for an apostate and a templar to have dinner, Anders thought bitterly.

“So_ Anders.” Hayden accentuated on his name. “What do you like to eat?”

“… I can take anything. I’m not really picky.”

“No you didn’t understand me. I said, what do you _like_ to eat. As in what’s your favorite food. Or meal. They have pretty much everything in here. Fish? Chicken maybe?  Anything you like.” Hayden eyes glimmered like two pair of shiny emerald diamonds around a noblewoman’s neck on a sunny day, thanks to the candle posed in the middle of the table.

Maker, can they remove that.

 “As I said I can eat anything. Am not_” Hayden leaned forward. “Take it as a simple question Anders. I want to know, what’s your favorite food?”

 Anders eyes widened. And with it, he caught the look a noblewoman who was facing him on the nearby table throw at him. Anders almost thought she was about to call for someone or anyone to come remove this lamely clothed piece of a beggar from her field of vision.

No one has ever asked him this question. _What’s my favorite meal…?_

No, Karl once asked him. While they were lazing in Karl’s bed, asking each other meaningless, foolish questions as ‘what’s your favorite color to wear’ and ‘how old do you think Irvin and Gregoire are.”

Nate also asked him this question once… “Steak with mushrooms and fried potatoes…with cream sauce.” He didn’t quite know why he added the meaningless sauce detail but… well, might as well say it all.

And Hayden didn’t even tease him or snorted, with a snap of his fingers, he called for the waitress, Put the order for exactly what Anders described and asked the same for him too. “And a bottle of some nice wine with it, Elza.” He added, and the brunette nodded all smiles, “Right away Messer. It’s a pleasure to see you back. Enjoy yourself Serah.” She said the last part nodding to Anders.

Then she left.

You’d think you’ll need a shovel to break the icy silence that had fall all of a sudden. But for Anders the noises he was hearing was unbearable. Well, of course you’ll need to be in his head to hear them too.

Because Justice was restless. Boiling his blood and whirling inside his body frantically. Anders was almost holding his breath in fear that one misplaced motion would trigger Justice alive.

Hayden noticed that the man in front of him was squirming nervously in his chair. He couldn’t blame him. After all, how awkward all this was. The man was already in a relationship. Maybe he’s feeling bad for his lover. He probably felt as if he was betraying him. Shit. That wasn’t his intention at all. He just wanted to have some good time with this gorgeous man…

“So. Anders,” Hayden started briskly. Anders’ head snapping up at attention.

“Tell me, what were you doing in the Blooming rose that day, when we first met?” Smiled the man. He tried to think of anything not stupid enough to start a conversation, but he did been curious to know.

“Does your boyfriend like to bring you with him, when he wants to have some extra fun?” He said jokingly. All right, maybe he should have stopped at the first question, seeing how Anders’ eyes widened in indignation. But he tried to maintain the smiling nonetheless.

“Uh… I… We were searching… for someone…a friend.”

“Oh? they works there? Maybe I know them! What’s their name?” The templar asked earnestly.

“No, no… she doesn’t work there… she’s… actually she’s missing.” Try as you might to understand why he was spilling truths like the greased palm of an elven kid.

“Oh, shit. Was it… like kidnapped or something? There are actually some cases like that those past few days.” Hayden informed with sheer concern dripping from his voice.

“We… don’t know yet.” Anders said flatly. Maker, make it stop.

“And did you try reporting it to the guards?”

 Anders sighed heavily. "Yes." And it looked so inappropriate. And honestly, he didn’t care the slightest.

But the templar’s face didn’t drop or seemed to notice. He seemed to be taking Anders’ story quite seriously. In fact, too seriously for Anders’ liking…

“You know, templars do not usually take care of missing cases as they are most often than not domestic matters. But, we have the right to interfere when we feel something’s wrong. Maybe I could do something to help?” Hayden suggested gleefully, giving Anders his most earnest smile. If there was a way to do a little favor for…

Anders scoffed. His face crumbling into a distasteful grimace. “Of course you have the right. _You_ always have all the rights. You would be glad to blame every vice in Thedas on blood magic if you could. You templars will always step on everything to make it _your_ _right._ ” He spited disgustingly.

Hayden’s smiling face stayed paralyzed for few more seconds. Taking in what must have felt like a slap to the face. What... what had just happened. He was… absolutely not anticipating such sudden change of mood. The man in front of him was merely seconds ago all softness and shyness. And now, he was half flushed, breathing from his mouth, and he could feel all the eyes on him. Them.

“Ugh. Sorry… I’m sorry.” The blond man stammered as he retreated back and slumped in his chair, eyes glancing furtively in all the directions like a frightened little animal.

“No. No I… I didn’t mean to…” To what? Suggest help? “To say something inappropriate.” Hayden tried an apologizing smile. The one he was sure worked every time when he screwed. Although now, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Their dinner came at that moment. And Hayden praised the Maker for it.

He was not planning on eating silently. And even less in an awkward and let’s face it – uncomfortable silence. But Anders sunk in his plate and was already picking with his fork at the food. He was almost resigned to call it a sour dinner, but as he glanced one last time at Anders, he saw the man’s eyes widen and his eyebrows jumping up slightly. He looked down at his plate with new appreciation, and the templar would swear, he saw a little muscle of his mouth pull upward.

As if feeling his eyes on him, the blond man looked up, eyes goldish over the candle. “I’m sorry again.” he softly repeated.

Hayden stared into the glimmering golden eyes and found himself unable to say anything else but…

“No. don’t be sorry. It’s alright.” And because it felt too plain he decided to add, “So? How is it?” he pointed with his head at Anders plate, gently smiling.

“… Good.”

***

 

Dinner was quiet. Hayden had tried to play the card of 'no talk and no risk of screwing up for good'. But damn he couldn’t help thinking about it. The way Anders had snapped at him so angrily. What had he said? He only proposed to help searching for their friend. But the man then, started on about rights and templars’s rights. Did the man have some issue with templars? Was that the reason he was feeling the man so elusive? noncommittal in anything?

Was it just because of that?

***

 

Dinner was getting to an end. Actually, it felt good. For Hayden at least. He soon got used to the silence, because when he saw Anders eat… he didn’t want the man shocking or biting his tongue while trying to speak. It was amazing to watch that little mouth getting stuffed again and again, without even stopping to take a sip of wine between mouthfuls. It made him happy. And he knew it was so silly. Watching a man eat had never been that fascinating for him. Still… he spent the whole time trying to hide his silly grin behind the rim of his glass.

Now both men were just sipping quietly on their wine. And The templar broke the silence once again. “Hey, I hope you still have place for some dessert.” He smirked.

Anders looked up from the red of the wine and lifted a perfect eyebrow “dessert?” but the templar caught the slight hint of interest. And it was so cute.

“Well yes. Anything you fancy?” the templar asked tilting his head.

Anders shot him an incredulous look. But more than anything, he could have shot that incredulous look at himself just fine. He had the best dinner of his life, he’d never let himself starve, but it felt so long since he ate such a copious meal. And it was he’s favorite food. And for a while, it made him forget everything around. He was full, yes. But he was also a Grey Warden, and he doubted any Grey Warden can refuse a _dessert._  Especially coming from this place’s kitchens.

“Please, don’t make me choose.” He pleaded.

Hayden paused, then suddenly laughed heartily. “Why? Your favorite dessert is a wedding cake with extra white cream?” The templar teased.

Anders scowled. “No. I… never ate that. Or seen one by the same occasion.”

Hayden didn’t know what to do with this bit of confession. So he opted for avoiding it. For now, that is…

“Anders,” He called softly, “If you have something in mind, I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

Anders watched him for a minute. This templar. No, he wouldn’t share every bit of himself for his pleasure. “I don’t have any favorite dessert.” He said solemnly. _Fuck you._

Hayden looked somehow unsatisfied by the flat heartless answer.

“Well, I have something planned for you then.” And Hayden started to stand up. Anders watched his every move warily.

“But I preferred to keep it private. It’s upstairs.” He nodded at the back of the restaurant where a large stairway could be seen. “I hired a little room, and… I thought we could have dessert more privately… just you and I.”

Anders heart sped up in his chest. This templar… wanted to drag him into a room alone. The bastard… But then again, he was there for that same reason. To be alone with him. Why else would he put up with this masquarade.

“Fine.”


	4. The date (part 2)

The room was not little at all. It was spacious and plain beautiful. Dark cream wallpaper, chandeliers fixed on the walls bathing the whole place in a warm orange light. Anders eyes flicked to the large bed, looking every bit inviting. Hayden made a move toward the back were, to Anders surprise, another table for two was arranged. There were no candles on it. Only two glass of wine and a basket full of strawberries. It’s been so long since Anders had strawberries.

 _Andraste’s tits_ , Anders shook his head. He was here to kill this man. Not to leer at a basket of fruit.

“Anders?” The templar was suddenly in his field of view. Green eyes shining with concern.  

“Yes?” Anders tried to keep calm. It’s time to focus and think of a spell that can strike hard and fast. Justice inside him was just screaming to take over himself, but Anders didn’t want to. He knew he can do it without tearing flesh to shreds with his teeth. He tried to avoid those scenarios as much as he could. And leaving them for last resource.

Yes he was safe. No matter what. That was somehow _one_ of the reasons he wanted to do it himself…

But then the man surprised him with a heavy frustrated sigh. “What’s going on Anders? Why are you so detached? You’ve been so distant the whole night.” He complained with a frown. “I… I know this is not correct toward your lover, that maybe you feel like betraying him. And I know I was the one to insist on seeing you again, but if you truly hated me, you should have just refused!”

The templar took a few steps away from Anders  as he continued, “I only wanted to know a little a bit about you.” His deep voice dropped to a sad low growl. “Was it too much to ask? I can’t even try to befriend you?” He shook his head. “I only wanted to spoil you… a little bit…” And Anders eyes widened. The man looked so frustrated, so lost. He was shrugging and shaking his head, the green in his eyes wild with sincerity. And Anders was at loss of words.

At Loss of words and loss of what to think…

“You have been so cold, and I can’t understand why. And don’t go think I’m stupid, you think I don’t know that ‘Anders’ is just how we call the people of the Anderfels?” The templar said, scoffing indignantly.

“You wouldn’t even tell me your real name… wasn’t I even worth that?” he asked, shaking his head sadly as few strands of brown glossy hair fell across his face.

Despite it all, the man stood before Anders still and harmless, he didn’t try to hurt him, to touch him or even insult him. He was just there, glaring with those big pools of green pinning him in place, and Anders could almost see his lower lip shaking a bit.

“…It’s my name.” He didn’t even know why his voice came out in a whisper.

“What?” The templar’s frown deepened.

“I said it’s my name. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Wha... But,” Anders cut him short, “I know, but it’s what we call me. I promise… It is. It’s my name.”

Green eyes moved wildly across his face, searching as Hayden stared at him. The same kind of searching stare he thrown Anders too many time already. But in the end his features softened slowly.

“It’s not. And I know even if you say the truth, it’s not your _real_ name.”  As he said that, he made few steps forward. “But if it’s what everyone calls you, then I’ll go with it too.”

Anders stared in disbelief as the man tried to pull a little new dimpled smile.

To smile in such a gentle, almost compassionate way. As if he understood it all. As if he just pierced the glass that was around them. It’s not yet shattered but It’s a crack. And just _that_ was enough to make him smile...

“Would you… like to sit with me and talk a bit with me, Anders?” 

He nodded. And he sat at the table. The man came around to face him and he opened the bottle of wine. White wine this time. Rich and smooth. Anders drowned the whole of it in one gulp and put down the glass. Hayden smiled at the strange gesture but he took it as a positive sign. If a bit of alcohol was what it will take to unwind the blond man, then he will happily fill his glass a second time. He will even do the same. Maker knows he needs it.

The wine felt foreign as he drank it, but he kept telling Justice that it was only for the mood’s sake. That it was not costume to let the man drink alone is such situations. Justice snarled it was senseless and foolish, but Anders snarled back at him inside his head. He asked him to shut up. Just shut up and let him take care of it. It was the first time Anders snapped back at justice so nastily, and he sensed Justice retreating back silently somewhere deep, scowling but fading away off his thoughts.

And this time they talked. Anders of course stayed vigilant. He tried to make the random questions last long so nothing too personal was brought up. They talked about meaningless things. Hayden trying to make Anders more comfortable by speaking more about himself. Letting him know all the little details that would have made any other woman swoon.

After all, he was indeed swooning material, Anders decided to admit.

And for a while, just a short while, Anders found himself wondering how if the man wasn’t a templar, if he would have given him a chance. If he would he have flirted back.

He was one of those men Anders found gorgeous. But more than any of that, seldom where the men who had desired him so effortlessly. Actually, he always had to use his charms, wits and flirtatious skills to get those gorgeous types _ but this time, he had ask for nothing, and the man had bluntly confessed he simply wanted to spoil _him_. A little.

...He took another long sip of wine.

“… Wasn’t that hilarious!”

“Do you like cats?”

Hayden stopped mid laugh. “Excuse me?”

Anders took another sip, he was already flushed when he repeated, sounding every bit serious and tipsy. “I said, if you like cats.”

“Cats?” Hayden confirmed questionably. But Anders for the first time this night took the initiative to ask something so if the man wanted to talk about cats… “Uh, well, I used to take care of an errant cat when I was a child.” He tried to remember. His eyes flicked toward Anders and he saw that the man was listening with fascinating interest. “…And one day she had many kittens, so I took them all to my grandmother’s house so she can take care of them properly.” He smiled. “And you? Did… you have cats?”

“I… well…” he began. Why was it so difficult to answer? “It’s complicated…”

“Oh. Complicated you say.” Hayden wanted to suppress the grin that threatened to show up. Anders seemed really serious about this… cat thing. And he didn’t want the man to think he’s mocking him. Judging from the face he’s pulling… _Maker is he pouting?_   “Oh, Anders.” He reached out sympathetically, “What is it?”

“I loved cats. I still love them. I owned only one. But I took care of many.” The blond man confessed. It looked like he was talking about something so extremely dear to him that Hayden’s grin was quickly forgotten. How could he grin when the man in front of him was pouting sadly at his glass. Sadly and so fucking adorably.

“That’s great_” But Hayden stopped when Anders yawned and tilted his head to the side, eyes closed while doing so.

Hayden paused to take in the sight while it lasted, but soon asked as he stood up as walked to Anders’ side. “Hey now, are you tired?”

“I’m tired. I…” Shit it wasn’t supposed to turn out like that. He was supposed to… _kill_ … this man.

“you have every right to be. It’s pretty late already. Here let me help you…” Anders head snapped at attention. “What?”

“I just want to ease you down onto the bed.”

“NO!” Suddenly Anders was up, the chair falling down behind him in a loud scatter from the burst movement. And the mage was all of at once very awake.

“What is it? I just wanted to help you Anders!” Hayden asked, the volume of his voice turning up a little, he pulled his hands in front of him in a harmless gesture. “What did you think?”

Anders’ whole senses seemed to have been shaken awake at once. He deep breathed as he glared wildly at the templar.

“Anders. Calm down. You think I’ll hurt you? You still don’t trust me after all of this?” Hayden said sounding wounded. He didn’t want to believe he was still at step one back again.

“How can I trust a man like you.” Anders spitted. And Hayden stopped on his tracks.

“Templars aren’t worthy of any trust. And I learned that the hard way. You can hurt whoever you’d like. You all can hurt whomever you want, whenever you want… because you have the bloody _right_ as you said.”

“NO. Not again with this right thing.” Hayden growled loudly “What in the maker’s fucking name is the problem Anders! What is it with this templars rights thing exactly!? I would be very glad to fucking undestand already!”

Was that man really stupid? Anders thought. Was he so blind he couldn’t link all of this to the fact that he’s a mage already? Should he tell him? Maybe if he do so, he’ll be finally free of this senseless masquerade. This was in the end a templar. He can be sweet and full of attention all he wants, but he knew - for a mage, he will have no mercy. It’s time to end this farce.

“I’m a mage.”

Hayden’s mouth was about to spill something else but snapped shut at once.

“You’re… a mage?”

And Anders waited. Waited for a Cleanse that will hit the whole place. For a blow or a Silence. For a disgusting look.

None came. He readied a spell on the tip of his tongue. But the next words of the templar made him drop all the energy he canalized inside him that was ready to burst.

“So that’s the reason you are so cold and detached with me? Because… I’m a templar? Because of what I do for a living?” the other man asked disbelievingly.

 _What?_ Anders thought confusingly. _This is all he finds to say?_

“I said I was a _mage_.” He repeated again, letting the last word roll slowly on his tongue.

“Yeah, so what?!” And it was Hayden’s turn to snap back. “You had thought all this time that I wasn’t worth your attention because I am a templar? Were you waiting for a fucking blow in the face all this evening?”  Hayden was seriously pissed off now, and of all the things the man could have lost control over, Anders would have never guessed it will turn out like this.

“Did you hide this part of you from me because you were afraid of me?”

“NO, I’m afraid of NOBODY.” The blond mage abrubtly shouted indignantly.

“THEN WHY?!” the brown haired man shouted back hands thrown in the air. “I thought all this time, that if you were acting so cold was maybe because you were really uninterested, but no! All this time was just because I was a _templar._ You didn’t even try to know me!” Hayden blamed.

“You are a templar, what is there more to know.” Anders snapped back.

“Yes I’m a fucking templar! And you’re a fucking mage, so what! Did that stopped me from liking you!?” Hayden harshly exclamed as he lost his temper.

Anders eyes widened, mouth falling half open. He scowled. “You, didn’t know.”

Hayden was in the mood to shout a retort, but stopped to take in Anders’ stormy face pausing. His features softened and his heaving wide chest calmed as he said. “Did I launched myself at you, or hit you?” he asked frowning gently.

Anders dropped in voice too, “No… But you could.”

“And you could paralyze me first and set me on fire.” He responded back calmly.

And Hayden almost wanted to laugh. He shouldn’t be giving tips on how to finish him off, but it was too hard for him, and he started to chuckle to himself, head dropping and shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Anders was dumbstruck. “ _What_ … may I know why in the void are you suddenly laughing?!”

Hayden looked up at Anders, “Because I shouldn’t be telling you how you could _simply set me on fire_!” He said between chuckles. “Especially not when we are so angry right now.”

Anders scooted to the bed and sat on the end of it. This was… He didn’t even know how he could interpret this. This situation. There, was a templar laughing at his own silliness, in front of a mage, an apostate. Saying things like he could set him on fire, and he doesn’t give care that he’s a mage.

No. Maybe he should sit down and gather his scattered thoughts.

“You know Anders. Somehow, I feel glad that was the reason you were acting this way. Yes I know, it’s definitely not a reason,” Anders frowned. Of course it was a reason.  “But at least, it means to me that it wasn’t because you were not interested in me at all.”

He sat beside him and Anders turned to face him, “Now, we know what we are. You know that you have no reason to…” he wanted to say afraid but he recalled that was the reason Anders started to shout at first. “You have nothing to worry about. I know Kirkwall is reputed to be firm with our knight commander, But I’m not like her. And the proof is you.” He smiled softly at the man beside him as he reached with his hand and put it delicately, hesitantly over Anders’ own.

Anders watched as his hand disappeared under the templar’s.

“I can’t. I can’t forgive what the templars do. And I still don’t understand why you’re… acting like everything's normal.”

“Because everything _is_ normal! If it wasn’t, do you think I’ll be still here, with you, trying to arrange this?”

“This?” Anders asked.

“This misunderstanding. Big misunderstanding Anders. I know what you think and I understand it perfectly. But you know what, I don’t care.” Anders mouth opened slightly in disbelief.

“I don’t care…” The man approached, titling his head on the way, and suddenly Anders knew what was coming. But something inside of him left him immobile. Until he felt the breathe of the other man against his nose and lips and cheeks,

“…at all.” And finally the touch of lips against his.

It felt wrong. He knew it deep in his heart that it was wrong. But it was also so long. Anders never thought that one day, he will forget how it felt to be kissed. The sensations it brought him. And to his biggest fear, he felt those sensations again.

When Hayden let go of his lips, Anders regretted he didn’t push him away before. Obviously, for some reason, he was incapable of it.

“Your lips are so soft.”

“No. I… I can’t.” Anders stood up at once.

“What?” But Hayden hadn’t had the time to say something else that Anders was already crossing the room toward the door.

“Hey, wait! Anders wait.” He caught hold of the man’s arm just in time. “Let go of me.”

“Just wait a second! We… we don’t have to do anything, you know, we can just lie in there and sleep each on his side. Please, trust me I will do nothing you don’t want me to.” Hayden pleaded with his eyes.

Anders spared him a long stare.  “I need to go. Now.”

***

Yes. The plan was simple. Yet, nothing ended up going according to plan. And he didn’t know how to feel about that. Because everything _went according to plan._

He got himself and the templar alone like he needed, he even told the man he was a mage - the only thing was, he left him and he was still alive.

Running away was nothing unsual for Anders, only this once, the only thing unsual was how he couldn't understand  _why..._


	5. The witness

Something terrible had happened to Anders.

And he remembered it every time he looked at himself in a glass.

When he opened his chest to find souvenirs of his old self.

Or when he passed by a beautiful person – and this latter didn’t spare him a second glance.

Yes, Anders knew that he had lost his attractive charms, but he tried to stay positive.

After all, what man needs to be handsome…

“Our favorite apostate!”

“Ew, I think I stepped on something gross. You ought to clean this place Anders!” Anders threw Isabela a dirty look.

…When he's a possessed mage living in the sewers.

 

***

 

“Hello. I’m quite busy today, what can I do for you?” Anders demanded without looking, returning to his vials as Isabela was too busy getting rid of what stuck under her boot.

 “We won’t take much of your time Blondie,” Varric grinned amicably, “We’re meeting tonight at the hanged man, with Hawke and rest of the gang, perhaps you can join us for a game or two? First round is on me of course, until someone catches Rivaini cheating, then _she’s_ inviting!”

“Ha, that tend to happen when everyone is drunk enough not to remember if it is wicked grace or Diamond back we’re actually playing!” She grinned smugly.

“Uh… I don’t think so… I have many things to do and I wanted to catch up on my manifesto afterwards.”

“Oh come on Blondie, just an hour, you’re manifesto will still be waiting for you when you return, we hadn’t seen you in weeks,” Varric said

“And by that he means we miss you and your _oh so mighty spirit of_ _justice_ ” Isabela teased playfully.

“Should I ask him for permission? Hey justice,” she cooed, and Anders’ eyes widened in shock. “Can we borrow you Anders for a little while? We promise to return him back before midnight.” Varric couldn’t help but chuckle. Only Anders found nothing worthy of chuckling about.

“Isabela, it’s not funny at all.” He pointed out with narrowed eyes.

“Beside,” she added not affected by Anders scowl the slightest, “Someone send us particularly to insist on making sure you’ll come.” She rested her hands on her hips.

“What?”

But Isabela decided it was her time to leave and thus turned on her heels and walked toward the doors.

“I don’t know, honey,” she called out behind her, “All I know, is that some warrior showed by Varric’s doors and demanded to bring you tonight with the rest of us.”

Varric grinned knowingly, shaking his head and followed his rogue friend. Anders walked toward them, “hey wait, what… what do you mean?”

Isabela put her hand on the door and with a playful smirk she answered, “that Varric and I are not the only one who miss your _sexy tortured look_.” She winked lewdly and stepped out with her hips swaying thing.

“Oh…”

Oh yes, Anders was well aware that he had lost his beauty, but as he walked into the back of his clinic, pausing in front of piece of looking-glass and running the tip of his fingers over a stubble covered cheek, he thought… Maybe it won’t hurt if he recovered it back. At least, for a night.

 

***

 

Later that evening, Anders stepped into the hanged man in a mixture of nevousness and odd excitement. But thanks to the gruffy mood of the establishment, no one seemed to notice his uneasiness. In fact, no one seemed to pay him attention. And he felt almost glad for it. _Almost._

“Hey, look who decided to bless us with his presence!” Isabela grinned widely upon seeing Anders by Varric’s door.

“Hello Blondie, glad you didn’t disappoint,” Varric greeted from his seat, the one at the head of the long table. He was fondling some cards in his hands, both feet crossed on top of the table. This is his place after all. Across from him was Bethany who waved happily at him.

Anders smiled at the three of them, and stepped inside closing the door behind him.

The first thing he saw when he turned back to face the others is Hawke. He was sited on the chair at the far end of the table, just before the last empty chair and to his other side Aveline, who acknowledged him with a polite nod. Across from them was Fenris, who didn’t acknowledged him at all, and beside Aveline was someone Anders didn’t quite recognize. A thin elven woman with short black hair and large green eyes. She was all small and kind of cute.

“Ohh, Hello, so you are the famous Anders!” The elf startled him suddenly. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Famous?”

She smiled brightly. “Yes, I’ve heard many things about you already! I was really looking forward to meet you! Oh I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself first, I mean it must not be very nice to say that I know about you while you don’t even know who I am right?” Anders raised his other eyebrow.

There was a minute of silence where some snickered silently while Varric chuckled fondly and Isabela joined the elf who began to blush.

“Um I’m Merrill. Pleased to meet you.” She finished quickly and slumped back on her chair half hidden by Aveline’s body.

“Don’t mind Daisy, she’s not so bad, you’ll just need a day or two with her to get used to it.” The dwarf joked while sipping on his ale.

So, since all the places were taken, and the only empty chairs were the ones on both sides of Fenris - where one of them must for belong to Isabela - the only place left is the one last chair at the end of the table to the left of Hawke. And he was still standing by the door so it was the closest seat to him. Hawke met his eyes for a brief moment, a look Anders couldn’t place - there was something hot and heavy in that gaze, but it didn’t last enough for Anders to comprehend and Hawke broke the intense matching stare contest with a smile, picking up the apple he was eating. Anders rested his staff on the wall and slid beside him.

“Hey, It’s been a while, where have you been?” Hawke asked as a greeting.

“You know where I’ve been Hawke. If you ever forget, you just have to follow the lanterns.” Anders smiled. He took off his coat and hanged it on the back of the chair. The shirt he was wearing was a clean one. cut just a little before the wrists, displaying the curve of his collarbones. 

Hawke chuckled and his voice came out low when he leaned slightly almost unnoticeably over the blond mage, “You smell good by the way.” He huskily murmured, his eyes fixed on Anders' pale neck. 

Anders’ shoulders tensed at that and he felt the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention to Hawke's drop of voice. He only hoped that he was past the age of blushing.

“I… I took a bath before coming.” He stammered too quickly for his liking.

“Really? Oh you’re right, he does smell good!” the pirate was suddenly in front of him. Actually sitting on the space of the table in front of him. She leaned forward and sniffed loudly. “ _mmh_ , Is that coconut ? Did you plan on seducing someone tonight?” She leered obscenely at him. That leer might have been more obscene than her cleavage hanging under his and Hawke's nose.

“Would you please stop sniffing me?” He scowled at her. “And I’m not trying to… seduce anyone. So stop talking nonsense already.”

“You can’t blame me for wondering, your hair doesn’t look so silky soft and smelling of coconut milk every day you know. A woman is ought to wonder.”

Anders eyes narrowed, “Do you insinuate that my hair smells bad every other day? And… this was just because a noblewoman was generous after I helped her and decided to buy myself a warm bath with good smelling utensils for once.”

Isabela grinned. “Which leave me wondering again, honey. You’d more like buy herbs or maybe just scatter the coin in Darktown alleys for fortunate people to pick it up.”

Hawke laughed at that. Anders was dumbfounded. “What?”

Isabela groaned and sighed as if the whole thing was beyond her comprehension, “You’d do that, and even Hawke here agree.” She pointed with her head at Hawke beside him. Aveline turned her head at that, seeming to pay more attention at the conversation going on beside her.

“Which is why it’s suspicious this whole I-buy-peach-smelling-soaps-and-pamper-myself-a bit.” And as if it wasn’t enough, Aveline narrowed her eyes at the same time with Isabela.

“I’m sorry if I tried to have a nice bath. I just wanted to prove that I can still smell good next time I smell like _I use to_.” Anders bit back. 

“She’s just teasing you, Anders,” Hawke smiled amusingly at him. He glanced at isabela who was too much enjoying this to be put off by Anders scowl, and he narrowed his eyes in a desaproving manner, “And you don’t smell that bad on normal days.” Anders looked up at him, frown relaxing a little. “Trust me. You smell just fine.” He smirked and winked as his took a bite of his apple.

Anders was glad… but oh maker how did they ended up talking about Anders smells. Nothing could be more embarrassing, and he felt a sudden urge to hide his face in his palms. It was the least he could do to be a little presentable. Tidy himself a bit, smelling like he used to in his Warden times for a change... And somewhere, that just attested to how terribly he had changed. Because for one, his old self would have never felt ashamed for pampering himself with perfumed soaps. And secondly, he would have returned the compliment to Hawke by now, rather than feeling utterly ashamed.

 

***

 

They started another game, the alcohol making them loose faster to roguish hands. Anders for the hundredth time lost in the middle of the game, throwing his cards frustratingly on the table, but Hawke managed to win a few hands and from time to time eased some silvers to Anders’ side when no one was looking. The same silvers Anders gambles with, lose and gambles with again when the warrior wins and push them to his side.

The evening was pleasant as he learned that Merrill was a dalish mage, then it felt less pleasant when he learned that she was a blood mage. By Fenris. Maybe it would have been a bit better if someone else had pointed it with more _tact_.

At some point, as Hawke was throwing a few coppers on the table, he  leaned closer to Anders who was frowning at his cards. “By the way, what were you up to till now? I remember I went to find you one night at the clinic but you weren’t there.”

“Oh really?” Anders didn’t raise his head from his set of cards. “when’s that?”

“Few weeks ago. The day after we reported to Thrask about his daughter.”

Anders eyes lost their focus on the cards and his head snap up. “Oh.” it was _that_ day.

Hawke picked up on his reaction. “So? I was sure to find you at the clinic so late at night. Where were you?”

“I was… I don’t quite remember actually. Umm” he made a gesture of thinking about it. It felt so long since he hadn’t thought about that night…

“I had an urgency. A woman was in labor and she wasn’t able to move so they brought me to her house instead. There… were some complications and it took us most of the night.” He lied.

Hawke stared at him incredulously and Anders found it unnerving. “ Anyways, why? Did you need me for something particular?” he hoped not. He wouldn’t forgive himself if Hawke was in real need of him while he was fooling himself with… that man…

“No.” came the flat answer. And Hawke turned to face forward again, taking a long sip of beer. “I just felt like checking up on you. That's all.” He added casually.

Anders paused at that. He kept staring at Hawke while the latter seemed to have picked up on where he left the game, changing cards and adding coopers to the middle of the table.

“Really…?” The mage offered softly. He felt a pang of guilt mixed up with something else. Something that made a knot inside is stomach.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t available that day.”

Hawke scoffed. “Don’t apologise, you had to go help that woman have her baby. It’s perfectly understandable.”

“Yes but…” Anders hesitated a little watching Hawke play. “Did you want to talk about something in particular?”

“No. As I said I just felt like seeing you.” he turned to face the mage as he pushed discretely another handful of silvers toward him.

 

***

 

After four or five games later, and another round of crude stories from Isabela, the party called it a night. Aveline had already left the group an hour ago, and Isabela waved them goodnight as she closed the door of her room behind her and an unknown fellow.

Bethany fell asleep at some point and Hawke felt obligated to carry her back home. Muttering that it was the last time he let her have her way with alcohol. He asked for Fenris to walk Merrill home despite his dislike of the elf, but Fenris accepted more because Hawke was not in a state to defend himself with his sister sleeping on his back. Anders hanged a little more behind at Varric demand. Wanting to hear stories of his Grey Warden days. He found the mage in a seldom mood to talk about his old self and pounced at the precious opportunity.

Hawke still insisted on not staying too late. Varric shoowed him out shaking his head while Anders smiled amusingly at Hawke's sudden protectiveness.

“I’ll tell him one brief story so he can have sweet dreams filled with Darkspawns and I’ll head home.”

“I wanted to walk you back. The streets can be dangerous by night, you know it.”

“Don’t worry about me Hawke. I’m a grown up mage.”

“That means nothing.”

“Say that to his spirit friend.” Varric snorted playfully.

“I mean it. Don’t stay out late.”And Hawke spared them one last look before exiting the rogue's room.

It lasted only another hour after everyone’s depart for Anders to step outside the hanged man too.

He had just yawned at the cool air of Lowtown when a man launched himself at him out of nowhere.

The blow took him by surprise and landed on his chin heavily. He stumbled backwards with a yelp and automatically called on Mind Blast. The attacker scattered miles away just when he was about to go for another blow, and suddenly another shadow jumped from some rooftops from behind him, kicking him to the ground on his way down.

Anders fell on his knees. He kept a tight grip on his staff and was ready to finish it off at once. Be damned all circumstances, he was going to kill those bastards in one go. He turned in a swift movement with his hand stretched out before him, electricity sparkling explicitly from between his fingers when a slicing sound cut through the air. And next thing he saw, an arm falling to the ground in dull sound.

The spell died in his hand as he heard the shrill of the thug. And as the man fell to the ground, Anders’ jaw dropped too. There, templar armor bathed in blue moonlight, the tall and imposing frame of a man he recognized all too well.

His features were hard as stone, frowning darkly at the wounded man still crying out. And when he spoke out, a shiver went down Ander’s spine like bucket of cold water.

“ _Don’t you dare touch him again, you worthless piece of shit bastard.”_ He spat at the sobbing man, heavy large sword shy from gutting the man’s throat. His shoulder was spurting blood like a fountain, and his acolyte who was thrown away earlier fled out of sight half crawling.

“GET LOST,NOW.”

The man limped away as quick as his injury permitted but not before picking up his ripped out member.

It’s only when the cries died away that Anders tore himself out of his shock.

“Maker’s breath…” He breathed out.

The brown haired man fell on one knee in front of him and dropped his gauntleted hand on Anders’ shoulders.

“Did they hurt you? Are you alright?” Hayden eyed his face worryingly, his fingers traveling the mage’s face, searching for injuries or anything that could set him off on those bastards' tracks to finish the job.

“I’m bloody fine.” Anders’ snarled, snatched his face from the man’s light grip as he started to get up on his feet. “I’m a healer anyway.”

Something made Hayden frown indignantly. His face screwing in a grimace. “Of course.” He said with a scoffing smile, “Now I just have to wait another pair of weeks or maybe _months_   to find out something else about you.”

Anders only glared. “What are you doing here?”

“I just happened to be patrolling the streets with a new recruit tonight.” Hayden answered all too quickly. “You gave me the wrong address. That night. When I let you go so abruptly. I only wanted to check up on you. See how you’ve been.” Hayden reproached, titling his head slightly to the side.

Yes of course Anders gave him a false address. How can he give up his hide out to a templar? Maker damn him and his lot.

“For what? So you can check up if I didn't wake up one morning and decided, ‘Hey, how about I slit my wrist and try blood magic today?’”

“You are so rude.” Hayden hissed softly, as if they were in the middle of a crowd and he didn’t wish to draw attention. He closed the space between them and groped at Anders’ forearm. His next words coming out stern and blaming but even.

 “I told you several of times that _I don’t care that you’re a mage_ , why are you so hateful?  I never hurt you that night right?” He tightened his grip a bit more as Anders tried to shake his arm off. But there was no escaping the hard as stone green of those eyes securing him on the spot.

“ _You, kissed me_ _back,_ Anders. You cannot deny me that.” Hayden shook his head explaining the fact slow and clear.

And Anders eyes widened at the memory, shaking and hissing as softly, “No. no It was a mistake_”

“No, it wasn’t.” The templar cut him off. “It was slow and soft and searching, but it wasn't a mistake.”

“NO.” Anders snapped again all of a sudden. Tearing away his arm and stalking few feet away from the man.

“No, go away…” Anders said recoiling back. He began to feel Justice’s anger stir. He will be merciless he knew it. Now outside and alone in the middle of the night, he could have his way. But something inside him restrained Justice from being unleashed totally. And it was same thing that was making him retreat away from the templar’s reach.

“I don’t want to And_”

“I SAID GO AWAY, LEAVE ME THE VOID ALONE.” he shouted out uncontrollably. "It was a mistake..."

Hayden was left agape. For the first time afraid of making a move onward. He felt his body still on his own at Anders demand though he knew that all he wanted  was to run and embrace him and make the shaking stop. Appease those honeyed eyes wild with fear.

But he didn't move. And only watched the man who was filling his dreams walk backward slowly until he finally broke into a run and disappeared out of sight.

Hayden didn't move yet for a few minutes. Gazing blankly at the direction Anders took off, his hands balling slowly into trembling fists.

He gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away as he turned sharply on his heels. Leaving the bloody smeared scene.

 

***

 

Beauty was something Anders gave up for many reasons.

He didn’t need it anymore where he was. In his grand plans of freedom and rebellion. Because Justice deemed it vain and selfish.

He didn’t need it because it was of no use to him anymore. The ones who contemplated it were gone.

That’s what Anders thought at first. But then, when he believed it was something lost forever, he found himself surrounded by a whole new lot of people.

A man who stirred that need in him to be appreciated and admired.

Another who was drawn to him effortlessly.

An old encounter who still praised his looks as if nothing had changed in so many years…

Nevertheless, there will always be another kind of people around you, who hates you enough that no amount of handsomeness will mean a single thing to them.

Like the kind of tattooed elf, who just witnessed an unthinkable scene that could be fatal if ever brought to light, and who retreat back in the shadows silently, when everyone’s gone…


	6. The stalker

There is one thing you must know about the Knight Lieutenant Hayden.

And that he had it all.

He had a smile that always got him all the favors,

The strength that made everyone in the Gallows nod their respect,

And a wit that his superiors and fellow templars often praised.

Yet something was off recently. Something which neither his smile, strength nor wit seemed to fix it.

 

***

 

It happened on a sunny Saturday morning, when a certain templar crossed the courtyard of the Gallows in stern determined footsteps.

“Naomie!”

“Oh, Knight Lieutenant Hayden! It’s a pleasure to see you so early in the morning!” The templar girl beamed.

Hayden knew that young woman well. She was the biggest mouth in the Gallows. Knew all kind of gossip about at least _every_ templar in there. And in the mean time everyone in the Gallows already knew how to never buy her prudish looks. How many times did she stammer out a polite salute to a passing superior and the second after, snickered behind their back about some of the latest juicy gossips she heard. Or made up. 

Hayden gave her a brief show of his dimpled smile, “I need you in something Naomie. It’s about some rumor that was circulating for some time now.”

“Oh but I thought our good knight Lieutenant never fancied these kind of banters.” She snickered, her innocent features absolutely not suited for such a nasty grimace.

Hayden short laughed, “Yes I know, but I’ve heard it again lately, and ever since it intrigues me a little. I thought perhaps you’d know more about the subject.”

“Possibly…”she smirked, but not for long as she dropped the act and laughed, “Of course I’d know! I’m all ears!” the girl said in a self confident manner. “What can I do for you, Hayden.”

“It’s that rumor about the knight captain Cullen. You know, that one about a relationship with a mage from his Ferelden circle,” he wondered cautiously and leaned a bit, continuing, “I want to know what the story is.”

Naomie’s excitement faded after hearing the already famous but old rumor. “I knew as soon as you said the Knight Captain that is was going to be about that one. There never been anything crispy about him beside that old one. Anyways. Yes, that is actually true.” She narrowed her darting eyes left and right and Hayden’s own pair grew wide with anticipation for more. The templar went on in a more hushed tone, “But you must also know how it’s strictly forbidden to talk about that as Meredith made it clear it’s untrue and doesn’t want to hear anyone repeating such things about her Knight Captain. They even spoke about punishment.” The girl whispered with suspicious eyes.

“But… as far as I know, there wasn’t really a ‘relationship’ between them. The said mage left the circle afterwards with the Grey Wardens and became the Hero of Ferleden they say.”

Hayden’s face fell for some reasons at that. His mouth tugged downward into a frown.

“Personally I think it was one sided.” The mouthy girl added secretively.

“Oh.”

“That’s all there is to the story. And Meredith doesn’t want anyone to speak about it. You know how she is; it will look bad for the reputation of her precious Knight Captain if it was known that he was in love with a _mage_.” She added casually.

But Hayden was deep in thoughts already – eyes blankly focused on something apparently very interesting at his feet on the ground. Only when the silent grew palpable between him and the templar in front of him that Hayden’s mind focused back.

“Alright. Thank you.” He evasively said, the fellow templar eying him skeptically.

“Was there a special reason you wanted to know? This is after all an old gossip.”

Hayden only waved a dismissing hand, already turning on his heels. “No, as I said Naomie, I was just curious. See you around.”

 

***

 

When he woke up that morning, Hayden was already deep in thoughts. He thought about Anders. About what to do in this situation. He hoped for some advice whatsoever. And then he realized that he knew of no one in this kind of situation. That is, until he recalled the infamous rumor about the Knight captain Cullen and the love affair with a mage.

 _So much for a love affair_ , He thought bitterly.

As he was climbing onto a ship to Kirkwall’s dock, he couldn’t help but wonder why he suddenly felt so disappointed. When he jumped off his bed today, he was eagerly anticipating something of the same. That maybe his Knight Captain had experienced and been in the same position he was in now. He knew of no templar who was in love with a mage, or had one as lover.

But then again, that mouthy twat had to crush all his hopes of finding someone similar to his case. And so close what’s more.

He couldn’t keep going. Not with the haunting face of the blond mage that fateful night he stumbled into him. For the second time he ran into the man after he positively thought they’ll never meet again. That must mean something, his confused mind liked to believe.

He didn’t know yet what he will do when he'll reach Kirkwall. Didn’t have any plan yet. He only knew that he must go - Must do something about it. His best hope was finding the man, but his chances were slim as the only information he got with him was that he was a mage. And a healer. Oh, and living somewhere in Lowtown. He was pretty sure about that last one. Especially after running into the man there. At least let him start from there.

 

***

 

When the ship docked, he walked through the docks aimlessly. Should he go around describing Anders like a lost pup? And now that he thought about it, will people really guide him to Anders? If he happened to ask someone who did knew about him and was a friend, he surely won’t point him out to a _templar._

 _Shit,_ he thought. _I’m such a fool. I should have thought about it before leaving the Gallows…_

He stopped among the passing crowd to think for a minute. He was definitely not doing the ride back to the Gallows to change.

Suddenly an idea popped in his glossy brown haired head.

He went to buy to some cheap clothes in a nearby stall guarded by a young boy and asked for a special templar favor to rent a small house of a sort in Lowtown. That way, he can change into casual clothes and back when he’d need to.

Soon after all those tasks were done, Hayden started his investigation. Walking cautiously Lowtown’s streets, trying to figure out from where to begin.

He asked a couple of people, describing his mage the best he could do without sounding too suspicious, changing the story every time; for some he was his cousin coming to visit him, sometimes an old friend, and for others, a same like bullshit. But no one seemed to gratify him with a scrap of information or detail.

And so he kept wandering Lowtown all day like a lost traveler. It didn’t help that he was very unfamiliar with this part of the city. He never had many patrols down here, and never felt the need to take a stroll out in there neither. And the whole of it started to get on his nerves, because it made him confused and frustrated and helplessly lost – and he hated those feelings the most.

The feeling of being in an unknown place and searching for an almost unknown person.

The morning day faded into the noisy afternoon, helplessness sucking off all of his vivacity as he continued his search, when all of a sudden, a little body bumped against his middle heavily. He winced and looked down to meet an elven little girl with short pigtails looking up apologetically at him.

She dusted off her brownish skirt and muttered a shaky “I’m sorry Messer.”

Hayden crouched down on one knee to meet her eyes, “It’s alright.” He smiled. “You shouldn’t be running without looking in front of you.”

When Hayden extended his arm and patted her skirt and shoulder off the dust, the little girl eyes softened and she smiled shyly back. “Thank you Serah. I…I’ll remember.” But just as she started to run again past the templar, he gripped her wrist. “Hey. Um, before you go, can you help a poor lost man, sweetheart?” Hayden asked, showing off his most attractive smile.

The little girl caught by surprise looked back, her big eyes widening but unexpectedly smiled. “Um, of course.” She cocked her little head to the side, and Hayden released his hold softly.

“Yes so… I’m looking for a man, His an old friend of mine, and I came to the city specially to see him you see,” He smiled at her, using his most slow, smooth tone, watching as the elven youth rocked on her skinny feet back and forth listening.

“His name is Anders…”He watched for a flicker of recognition. “He’s a mage, and a healer. I’m told I’ll found him around here.” He hopefully supplied.

The little girl’s eyes flickered up and down and all around for a moment. She hummed and to Hayden sheer surprise, grinned brightly as if she finally pierced a difficult riddle.

“The healer in Darktown you mean? Are you his friend? My mommy took me to him once when I bled my knees. It hurt so much, but then! The nice healer took aaall the pain away in just a moment! See,” She pointed are her perfectly unscratched pale knees. “No wound at all!” She beamed at her knees. 

Hayden too was looking down at the scrawny knees. Yes, indeed, no wound at_ Wait.

Did she just say… “Darktown?”

“Yes that’s where we went.” The girl eyed him warily. “Are you a friend of him?” She titled her head.

Hayden didn’t respond for a minute. He stayed still, eyes fixed on something just over the elve's shoulder. He snapped back at reality when the little girl followed his gaze innocently.

“Yes. I’m a very old friend of him. Are… are you sure it’s him? I mean… there might be other healers… he has blond hair and he’s… pale, just like you sweetheart.”

“Yes, I remember he’s like that, and taall! I only know of him. Sorry Messer.”

“… It’s Alright. You were of great help sweetheart…” he stood up on his feet and arranged his long sleeved dark green shirt looking far ahead of him.

_Shit._

 

***

 

If he was lost in Lowtown, Darktown would be the end of him.

At least up there, the sun enlightened every corner, and things were arranged enough to know when you were walking around the same place more than once, but down there, Hayden realized, he could have been turning around on the same spot if it wasn’t for the refugees’ faces sitting or lying on the ground that helped not wandering the same path thrice.

He cursed for the million time that day as his boot caught in a dark puddle of something slimy.

“Maker’s fucking swelling balls… Oh excuse me.” He called when an old man was about to turn down the corner.

“Yeah what?” the man asked ruthlessly.

“I’m looking for a healer. I’ve been told he’s down here?” Hayden asked calmly.

The man stopped to face him and eyed him warily. He scrutinized the templar face for a good minute before nodding his chin up at him, “Why? You’re injured?”

Hayden blinked and ventured cautiously, “No… but… my sister is. Terribly wounded and I… don’t have any idea what to do.”

The old man hummed low in his throat, considering it. “Then you should bloody bring your sister with you.”

“I know, I left her rest as we’ve been walking all day, I wanted to see if he could help me heal her wound. I’ll pay of course…” he added hopefully, he did look like a coinless refugee in those layers.

But then the old man barked a laugh. “Ha. You’re scared about that? It must be you’re first time around here. Don’t fret, you won’t need to do anything, the healer will take care of her fully and won’t claim any payment out of it.”

Hayden for the second time blinked in surprise, dumbfounded by what he just learned. “Uh… Beg you pardon?”

“You heard me. He heals the people for free. Doesn’t expect any coin or favor for what he does. Of course if you want to be generous, he won't bitch about it, but you can go ahead with no fear.”

“Are… Are you sure? He never expects payment? I… I didn’t know…”

The man scoffed gruffly, “Surely the one who filled you about him wasn’t interested in going through details. But you can understand that,” The man adopted a more serious face, his hairy brows knitting together, “You must know that he’s a mage huh, but the lad had never been anything but selfless toward the refugees and the people of this damn forsaken place. So we stay vigilant. We don’t want him to get in troubles.” The man said with a piercing frowning glare. His tone almost threatening by now. "Some of The Coterie also keep a watcheful eye on him they say. So you keep it to yourself, understand?"

“Yes, I understand. I… perfectly understand it… So where can I find him please?”

“You just follow the lanterns. Like this one over here you see?” he pointed with his chin at an effectively lantern strapped on the wall.

“You follow them and you’ll find him, boy.”

“Thank you.” Hayden managed. The man nodded and resumed on his way.

Afterwards, Hayden successfully managed to follow the man’s tip. There was indeed a path of lanterns if you carefully paid attention. He finally arrived at the bottom of a staircase and lifted his head as he saw a set of two doors, people going through them and two lanterns on each side of them.

He stopped there at the stairs feet. _It still might not be him._

He rested against the nearby wall with a full view of the doors. 

And so he watched. Watched as people went in and out. As some entered carrying a wounded person, while others limped with an already bandaged limb inside.

He kept watching for the entire afternoon. Wondering how was that even possible and if he should go take a peek. A young man walked past him, and Hayden stopped him abruptly.

“I’m sorry, uh, is the healer inside?” Hayden frowned at his own absurd question.

“Yeah, you can go if you want, although it’s pretty full right now.”

“Um, when will he take a break? I don’t want to disturb him you see…”

“A break?” the young boy repeated. “I don't know, man. But you just go there if you need. He’ll take care you. He just healed a blighting nasty gash on my arm. I swear I’d have died from pain by now. Thank the Maker I made it in time.” The man sighed heavily to himself.

“All right, I shall go. Thank you.” Hayden quickly nodded.

“Good luck, man.”

But he didn’t move. For hours he didn’t move. Standing one arm crossed over his chest, a fist against his mouth. Wondering when Anders will stop welcoming waves after waves of sick people.

Later on, a tall man passed by him, with glossy short black hair and a black beard. He was carrying himself in a strong demeanor, a long two-handed sword strapped on his back. That one looked perfectly healthy. And very familiar...

_The lover._

Hayden watched him go inside. And bit on his knuckles at the urge to go see what was going on. It lasted mere seconds before he surrendered and went to stand on the side of the door, leaning slightly to glance at the inside.

“Are you sure? I thought you’d like it, it’s been a while since you didn’t take a stroll outside the city.”

They were standing in profile to Hayden, in the middle of the room, people lying around in cots while others walked around, crouched or standing over their friends or families.

He couldn’t make Anders response but it looked like he refused whatever the warrior just asked him.

He only saw a shake of head, but the blond’s words were lost to him. Hawke, in contrast, was speaking just loud enough for him to catch on their conversation.

“Alright then. Do you need something while I’m there?” the warrior asked.

A discreet smile and movements of lips later, “Elfroot and others weird flowers then. Guess I'll need Merrill around. Hey, do you also need some Lyrium?”

Anders said something and laughed at it. Hawke titled his head, “I’ll see what I can find. All right. I’ll see you later.” Anders nodded him goodbye and Hawke turned abruptly on his leather boots. Hayden quickly made his way downstairs and turned his face away from view.

He didn’t know if the man would remember him the way Hayden did. As much as he didn’t know why he was hiding like some frightned prey, something about the whole stalking thing made him want to go unnoticed. By everyone.

Some hours later, Hawke returned back. He was accompanied by a beardless dwarf. They went inside Anders’ _workplace..._  and stayed inside for few moments.

The lieutenant was practically sure the sun was already set by now. He didn’t know why, but he stayed there the entire time. Watching the doors from afar. Thinking.

The warrior and the dwarf exited the place at last, but Anders was not with them like Hayden had suspected.

_What the fuck are you still doing Anders…? Why do you work here in the first place? Fucking shit, it’s probably dark by now._

"Excuse me,” Hayden turned to face an old looking man who started to take a sit on the dirty ground across from him.

“Um, Could you tell when does the healer finish?”

“Oh, the healer up there? You can go ahead, as long as the lanterns are lit.” His rusty voice informed him.

Hayden’s eyes turned to slits. “As long as the lanterns are lit you say?”

“Yeah, It’s the signal that he’s still up, available.” The man yawned while lying against a box, both hands pillowed under his head.

Hayden glared at him, frowning hard and deep as if the man had blatantly offended his mother. 

When the man closed his eyes, Hayden turned to stare at the set of doors he contemplated all day like the most fascinating orlesian painting.

He gritted his teeth begging a divine force to lend him patience. And so he kept on waiting.

Wondering when Anders called it a night. Or a day. Fuck he didn’t know.

All in all, it lasted a good three hours after midnight before the silhouette of Anders finally came out of those fucking doors and turned off the two fucking lanterns with one flick of his deft fingers.

And to Hayden sheer shock at long last, he saw him return quietly inside, closing the doors behind him.

He stood there agape for another minute. Daring to wait again - the low snoring of the man across from him feeling like a mocking sound to his ears.

 

***

 

By the end of that day, nothing had really changed as Hayden changed back into his uniform and walked his way back to the Gallows. For he was still feeling the same way he felt when he first started looking for his man.

Confused, frustrated, and most of all, insupportably helpless.

Helpless like when he saw Anders emerging finally from his… _place_ , all slouched shoulders and tired eyes, turning off the lights after a whole day and night of working.

For free.

Oh yes, something was off lately, and The Knight Lieutenant of the templars had the confirmation now. As he gazed with a hand resting on his cheek at the calm darkness of the sea, he knew that this time, he will need more than his looks, wit and strength to get what he want.

For one thing was sure;  _this_ , only made him want Anders. More.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh what a long chap... sorry x_x Did Hayden found Anders too easily? humm I wanted to work it around 2 or 3 days later, but I thought hey, maybe the man could've been in luck that day. Just like Hawke found Lirene, Hayden stumbled on the right kid! okay I stop justifying.  
> I wondered if I should've waited and posted it with chap 7, but I couldn't resist *x*  
> Also because I'm trying to add another modern AU one shot am still writting. I love the concept but it's a little difficult as it's pretty angsty, but I think i'll try to finish it along with chap 7.  
> Again, thanks for reading !!


	7. The H

Something was starting to puzzle Anders recently.

That something took the form of a basket of medicinal herbs, packs of lyriums vials, and sometimes a basket of simple flowers… and an assortment of fruits.

Set by his clinic doors.

It started two weeks ago. And it kept on coming. The… gifts? were nonetheless very valuable for him – Except from the occasional daisies of course. But he couldn’t comprehend why. And especially who.

Though, when he really thought about it, it was pretty easy to do the math.

Firstly, he just needed to subtract the people of Dartown. That goes without saying; Then all that’s left is any fortunate person he healed from Lowtown who was wealthy enough to shower him with baskets of lyrium and fruits every two or three days a week.

But it still felt too improbable. Add to the fact that he had little friends who’d leave goods by his doors and not say a word about it, to the fact that he probably didn’t had any little friends.  Yes Lirene counted as a much helpful and sympathizer ally but, they never had the chance to develop any kind of deep friendship over the time and again, Lirene would have no reason in staying anonymous. Not her and not any of the mage underground. It must be someone outside this circle.

And Anders didn’t belong to any other circle aside from…

_Hawke’s circle. Is it Hawke?_

For a short while he played with the idea. Hawke sneaking surreptitiously and leaving baskets of flowers and other herbs for him to sort out at the foot of his doors.  He narrowed his almond shaped eyes at the silly image. Was Hawke the kind of man who’ll do that?

Noo, He’ll more likely shove the herbs still with grass roots under his nose as greeting. Anders shook his head wistfully.

Still, Hawke always passes by the clinic when he goes out for errands. Always asks if Anders would like to come with him. And if not, brings him whatever he needed. He was more and more busy with the clinic, and every time Hawke came around asking for his companionship, the guilt he felt leaving the people around him to their resorts always took the better of him. He wished he was able to enjoy his time with the warrior more. Somehow, even though Hawke was not a mage and more of a rugged arrogant man, he was never anything by nice with Anders. He’d probably have never known of his wary, aggressive self if he didn’t accompanied him with other people around.

And there was also those little flirting sparks around them whenever the two were close. A hot gaze here, a wink there, and sometimes that naked smirk Hawke left him with that felt like a promise of exciting and equally dangerous inappropriate things.

After all, maybe it’s really Hawke. Anders smirked at the assortment of elfroot and deathroot he was making. He pictured Hawke spurting evasively excuses of not having time to stop by and wanting to help supply the clinic. And then he’d ask about the yellow daisies and marigolds to trap him.

_Maybe he’d blush?_

He suddenly felt a wave of good energy, and being trapped in Darktown felt like a suffocating prison. So he decided to go out. He already had everything he’d need from the market – so maybe he’ll take a trip to the Hanged man. He felt the need to talk with someone. And Varric was always up to exchange stories and funny banters. And who knows, maybe Varric might know something about the identity of a certain grateful stranger…

And maybe he should get an assistant.

 

***

 

It was mid afternoon when Anders headed leisurely to the bar. While he walked, his mind lingered on all the gifts he received by lovers in his life. Many came to his mind, but only few meant so much to his heart.

The first was by Karl. It was their first kiss. Not Anders first kiss, but Anders first kiss from _Karl._ Yes, it was silly to say it was a gift, but at the time, it really had felt like one. Something he never thought Karl will grant him out of all the people in the tower. He always had a heavy crush on him, but always knew Karl would never be the kind to befriend a rogue undisciplined flirty apprentice – let alone romance someone who was everything but wise and calm and strong and dashingly handsome… But then Karl healed his scratches on his elbows after class and dropped a soft peck on his forehead when he finished. And when Anders looked up into the sky blue eyes that reminded him so much of freedom, the kiss came as naturally as glow on his fingertips.

After that, Karl gave him a second gift.

A gift which Anders bought himself in one of his escapes.

He knew Karl couldn’t buy him anything locked up as he was.

So in his fifth attempt, he returned with something he handed to Karl to give him.

Anders chuckled to himself. He still remembered Karl surprised and I’m-not-quite-following look he gave Anders that day.

 _“It’s simple, I wanted you to give me a present, and I know you’d want to, but I know you can’t buy me any, so…” He nodded at the little golden cube box_ _in his palm. “You can give me this.” He smiled gleefully._

_Karl hesitantly extended his hand and took the little box. He looked up at an excited Anders for a moment and back at the small box. He undid the thin blue ribbon and opened it in a way that whatever inside was hidden from the blond’s view, and smiled._

_Then he closed it, “So, I have something for you Anders.”_

_“Reallyyy! A gift?! What is it?!” Anders beamed innocently at him._

_“I hope you’ll like it!” Anders giggled maliciously._

_Karl handed him the golden little cube and Anders accepted it like it was the first time he saw it._

_And he opened it. “Oooh, It’s so beautiful!” Anders took the gold earring in his fingers._

_“I love it Karl thank you!” he said before kissing Karl on the lips._

_“I’m glad you like it, you want me to help you put it on?”Karl smiled fondly._

_“Yep!”_

Anders stopped on his tracks. A painful look on his face at the wistful memory. A tear escaped his right eye as he touched the empty ear. The earring was safe in his chest. But it never felt appropriate to wear it were he now lives. His only regret was not wearing it the last time Karl saw him. _I’m sure it would have brought a little smile on his face,_ he silently thought.

The second meaningful gift has been Nate’s family ring. Oh, of course there was Ser pounce-a-lot, but that was Amell who gave it to him, and beside a short mutual flirting nothing really came out of it. Especially not when Nathaniel made it clear he wasn't the polygamous type. At all.

So Nate’s way of making it official was the night he gave him his family ring telling him _“You’re now part of one of worst and distasteful families ever.”_ With an unusual sarcastic tone. Anders giggled and leaped at his neck, resuming their paused bed activities as a thorough thank you. More intensely than usual that night…

Of course Nate had bought him many things after that. Scarves, hair ties in the colors that suited the rogue’s moods, and also a silky green ribbon for his cat, matching Ser Pounce’s eyes.

Anders smirked to himself at the day he saw Ser Pounce-a-lot with a small bell around his ribbon; for Nate’s excuse, he blamed the cat of sneaking silently in their room and startling him pouncing all of sudden on his back. Anders took off the bell of course, much to his cat’s glee. Though he enjoyed how Nate’s cock slammed out of pace inside him in surprise when Pounce-a-lot jumped on his back that night.

They can say whatever they want, Anders’ nicknames where always fitting.

Wistful memories later, he arrived at the Hanged man and let himself inside.

He never thought he’ll be accustomed to a place such as this, but when he saw Norah greeting him from a distance while serving a table and Corff acknowledging him with a polite nod, he thought maybe the place was not so bad. It felt good to be greeted like every normal citizen in a public establishment. It felt Refreshing in this kind of superficial city.

Or was it because he was part of the infamous mercenary Hawke’s circle. Thinking of that made him recall his purpose. He wanted to know if Varric had any clues about this.

“Hello Norah. Is Varric in here?”

“Hello! Yes he’s up in his room. I’ve just brought him coffee. You want me to bring you some too?”

“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”

He made his way upstairs and knocked twice. Seconds later Varric opened his door.

“Blondie? what brings you here…” Varric leaned over to check the hallway, “Alone?” he finished his sentence.

“No greeting your favorite apostate?” Anders tilted his head smirking.

The short man laughed heartily, “Ha, you know I should stop doing that. Not in public, and not inside the city. Maybe when we’ll be out in Sundermount or the wounded coast!”

Anders softly laughed and let himself inside. “What were you doing?”

“Uh… Just working out things for the expedition. You know the one in the Deep roads.” Varric sighed.

“Yes, I remember. I hope the maps will be useful.” he replied.

“It’s more about the coin that I’m concerned. We’re still far from the total, and my bull headed brother is excited to start this off already.”

“Oh. Hawke is running errands every day right?” Anders asked tentatively.

“For practically anyone with a reward. He’s building quite a reputation for him but I hope we start digging more shiny things than loose pantaloons lost in caverns.”

Anders’ brow shot up incredulously. “You found loose pantaloons?” 

“Yeah, among other things. Kirkwall is full of freaks. Who’d drop his pants in a cavern and go?” Varric quipped humorlessly.

  Anders let out a spontaneous hearty laugh.

“But you must see Hawke, won’t hand it back to his owner until he’s rewarded for the trouble!” Varric joked, sipping his steamy coffee.

Anders sat down still giggling, “Yeah, I wish I could. Especially the face he made finding it out.”

Varric commented, “Priceless trust me.” and paused for a short instant. “You could come with us.” He offered with a raised eyebrow.

Anders stopped mid chuckle and looked away playing with a loose blond lock between his long fingers.

“I’d like it, but usually Hawke comes when the clinic is terribly full. I… I can’t.” he admit.

The witty dwarf hummed to himself. “I see…”  He said when a soft knock of the door stopped him.

“Must be Norah, told her to bring me some coffee too.” Anders said to Varric.

“Oh, come in Norah.” The dwarf shouted loud enough to be heard by the maid.

 Norah entered casually and put down a mug of coffee in front of Anders, she asked if they needed anything else before she made herself out, firmly closing the door behind her.

Anders threw a sugar, blew softly on the cup and brought it to his lips, “So what were we saying?” Varric asked.

“Something about large pants?” Anders arched a perfect eyebrow.

“Ha yes. Hawke. So As I said, you should come with us from time to time Blondie. I swear you could use some fresh air now and then.”

Anders put his mug down and glared openly at the man aside to him.

“What do you insinuate Varric?”

Varric chuckled, amused, “Don’t worry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I swear by Bianca right there that you smell just fine.”

Anders had meant to take another sip but stopped his coffee half way to his lips. “What?!”

“I kind of heard about your… scented bath the other night.” Varric quirked a blond eyebrow smirking.

“I_ I’d… I just washed myself with a nice smelling soap.” Anders stammered.

“Yeah, good for you Blondie! We liked your pampered coconut-perfumed self just fine!” Varric quipped with a sly, amused tone.

Anders scoffed and let the embarrassing comment slide.

Varric sighed, “you know how to make me loose track on the subject. I meant to say, that it could be fun to have you with us next time we play pantaloons hunters in the wilds. And no offense but having a healer watch for our asses feels damn relaxing.”

Anders snorted but accepted the disguised flatter. “By the way, where is he now? I mean Hawke.”

“Oh doing a job for Meeran. He called for him early in the morning and Hawke accepted it. Though his year of servitude is done, the old geezer’s jobs pays generously.”

“Hum. Varric, I wanted to ask you something.” Anders started. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment though thinking about it. “What is it Blondie? Spit it out come on.”

“I… It’s because now that I rethink about it, it sound absurd… After what you told me… I don’t see how…”

“Alright Blondie, you start finish your sentences right about now!”

And Anders look back up at his friend sprawled nonchalantly on his personal chair, gloved fingers entwined over his chest, and couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. The thing is, I’ve been receiving… gifts, or maybe donations? Recently and I don’t know who might be doing this.”

“Oh? How’s that?” Varric took another sip with a questioning arched brow.

“I find them by my clinic’s doors. Every two or three days. Um, baskets of medicinal herbs and lyriums.” He leaned forward in a suspiciously way.

“And you have no idea who that secret admirer might be?” Varric filled in for him.

“Uh, It… It’s not an admirer…” Anders spurted out too quickly. “It’s only herbs and lyriums and… occasional flowers…” he said, hesitating on the last word.

“I thought… It could have been…” Anders tilted his blond head to side slightly, “Hawke I mean.” He spilled out finally.

Varric paused for a minute. And Anders used it to finish his thought. “But the thing is; now I can’t see how Hawke would have neither the time nor the coin to spend of stuff like that.”

“As much as Hawke’s all ambition right now is to save for the expedition, I also think that he’s not really the type to sneak around and play hide and seek. He strikes me more like straight forward type.” Varric prompted in a sympathizing tone.

Anders stared for few instants at darkness of his coffee, letting the indeed true facts sink like the sugar he dropped inside the hot liquid.

“I know, It’s was silly of me, but… Hawke had always generously offered to help me help me supply the clinic with herbs and_”

“Hey, you want to ask him? They will probably drop by around the evening, him and Fenris were out all day, I’m sure they’ll want a beer after whatever Merran put him through.”

“Fenris?” the mage narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, he took Fenris with him, said he needed another blade, and Fenris have officially all the spare time of Thedas. _That is_ , when he’s not busy hosting banquets in his new estate up in Hightown!.” Varric joked.

 _How can he take with him to wander all day a mage hater like him? Does he really like to be around such a person with those revolting hateful convictions? Be with someone who hates who I am…?_ Anders sourly thought.

“You’re right. In the end, it’s probably not him. No need to dwell on that any longer.” Anders dismissed a little too harsh.

“As you say, so wanna do a round of Wicked Grace before they come? You know, you could use this alone time to steal some secret tips from a skilled dwarf!” he winked.

“No, I’d rather go.” Anders stood too abruptly Varric hadn’t see anything coming.

“Huh? You ain’t gonna wait for his return?”

“No. I better go back.” came the flat answer.

Varric frowned a little and finally stood up as well, picking up his jacket and crossbow with him.

“Then I’ll walk you. I’ve been up here all day, I need a little stroll.”

“In the sewers?” Anders retorted.

“I hear there's plenty of dwarfs there! So why not.”

 

***

 

Dusk had already fallen when they finally arrived in Darktown. They were casually walking the stairs to his clinic talking,

“By the way Varric, I trust you not to say a word to Hawke about that matter alright?”

“Why? I thought you suspe_”

“Varric look!” the blond mage exclaimed suddenly.

“Oh shit.”

Anders slouched down and picked up a small basket of herbs and salves and other flowers in his arms.

“Are those… marigolds?” Varric questioned with suspicious eyebrows.

“Yeah,” the mage smiled at them, “there is sometimes simple flowers, just for decoration I suppose. Here, hold it while I open the door.”

Varric picked it up and rummaged inside with his hand. The door clicked open and the two men stepped inside. Anders walked ahead of him, throwing balls of gleaming light in every corner with his staff until the whole place was comfortably alight. “So? Are there any elfroot? I feel like doing some potions…”he called behind his back.

“No, but there is a note.”

Anders head snapped up. “What?”

“It says: ‘Don’t exhaust yourself please’ _.”_  Varric read. Then he looked up at Anders expecting eyes,

“And it’s signed with an _‘H’.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but cry at the Karl part... I don't know why it hurt somehow:'( (such a softy)  
> thanks for reading ^^


	8. The wrong man

We are all victims of temptation.

Whether it takes the shape of the swaying curves of a dusty woman passing by lonely men in a bar,

Or a mysterious mirror sited in a corner, which captivates its owner with all the answers she knows he holds.

Yet nobody really knows temptation more than the _mages_. Who are coerced to it not only by day; but also in their innocent slumber, where demons whisper in honeyed voices promises of satisfiying all their temptations and desires.

Except of a certain blond apostate… For whom demons became less of a concern ever since his body hosted a spirit who took good care in immunizing him against all slurred calls...

No… for this particular mage, temptation has taken the shape of a more subtle… little note…

_“I still don’t want you to tell him anything Varric.”_

_“But how else can we be sure it’s him…”_

_“It’s him Varric! I don’t know many people around me who’d sign with an H and leave me to guess who it might be. Plus, he always tells me to manage myself and… and always ask me if I don’t need anything! This is definitely him. But please. Don’t bust him now. I want to see where he’d go with it. ”_

_“Uuh… Alright alright. It’s your business after all, not mine!”_

_“_ Where did you go?” Hawke cocked his head to the side, peeking at Anders absent gaze.

The mage snapped out of his trail of thoughts upon hearing the voice of the man. “Ah, nowhere Hawke.” He offered him a smile.

“Fighting slavers and qunaris wasn’t exactly why we came here for, but glad you accompanied us anyways.”

They were walking a rocky path between the hills of the Wounded Coast, both of them few steps ahead from the rest of their companions.

“It always feels good to be out in the wild like this.” Anders inhaled pleasantly the cool salty breeze of the sea, dry sand and tree leaves, and exhaled soundly turning to face Hawke, “No matter how many slavers and other qunaris we have to face for it.”

Hawke stared back at him, still walking and his tongue darted out to moist his lower lip. The kind of thing that gave Anders terrible shivers everywhere. 

“I noticed you didn’t do your usually shopping around the bush.” Hawke pointed out.

Anders paused in his mind for a moment. Wondering how he should play it. Maybe Hawke was planning on talking about it. Or maybe he wanted to know Anders thoughts about it. Either ways, Anders felt a surge of incomprehensible excitement inside his chest.

“Yes, well, I’m not really short on supplies lately, actually.” He hinted. Stealing peeks at Hawke’s face for any kind of reaction.

“Really? Well… that’s a good thing. I knew those bandits and gangs that come to you couldn’t be that selfish.” Hawke replied casually.

Anders for his part didn’t know what to make of his reaction. Was he doing it on purpose so Anders stayed unaware, or was he just plainly teasing him? He wanted to push forward, but then, wouldn’t it be better if he just left Hawke comes to him on his own? That’s what he secretively wished. He didn’t want to spoil this little game or whatever Hawke thought it was between them. Obviously, with the last basket, Hawke _wanted_ Anders to understand it was him. No one came to mind to Anders but him. But why Hawke wanted to stay in the anonymity?  And… what if it didn’t hold the meaning Anders wished it held deep inside him.

“You’re starting to drift away again.” Hawke said again, with more eyes narrowing this time.

Anders looked up abruptly and shook his head, “Oh. Sorry. Again.” he said with a weak smile.

Somewhere behind them, Merrill squealed as Isabela and Varric laughed. Hawke didn’t bother to turn take a look.

“Something’s on your mind, you can’t help yourself wandering away. What is it?” The warrior bluntly prompted.

“Nothing, really…” Anders stammered and shrugged attempting to give a more convincing smile. “I thought about the clinic. Maybe they’ll be a crowd waiting by the door when I’ll return.”

Hawke snorted. “You always think about these kinds of things, no matter where you are. As if you can’t let yourself enjoy the little bits of time when you’re outside in the fresh air, doing nothing but strolling around and… fighting some qunaris on the way.”  He finished with a little smirk.

 _Oh Hawke._ “I’m sorry Hawke,” he smiled apologetically, looking at the man with amber eyes brightened by the sun, “But know that I really enjoy those little bits of times. In fact, I really need them. I used to do it alone before - when I needed a break from the clinic and work. From the whole Kirkwall, actually. I’d go sit on the sand by the sea and imagine myself in Antiva, that it is Antiva’s ocean that I’m staring at. But I enjoy it more now that I can have company.” _Your company._ He paused in his steps for a second to look at the man walking beside him. And as he was just about to open his mouth, Hawke held a hand in front of him. Inches from Anders’ mouth.

“Don’t even try to thank me. Again.” he said, extremely serious.

Anders’ mouth stayed slightly open for a few seconds as he looked right into Hawke’s pools of grays.

He liked them. Liked how big and intense they were when they looked at him. Even if the man’s features were hard and rugged, all healed scars and dusty black beard matching his deep smoky voice - Anders knew when Hawke laid down his weapons. He could see it right there, in the paleness of his eyes. 

He tugged his lips into a slow and sunshiny grin, and Hawke was unable to resist and did the same with that complete and unreserved smile he didn’t share often.

“Then I’ll just have to come get you out of your ratty neighborhood more.” Hawke said finally.

It made Anders’ eyes brighten up while Hawke’ own pair lingered more on the curve of the mage’s mouth. They haven’t realized they stopped walking until three shadows loomed closely over them, pausing too in their tracks and wondering what was going on.

“Are we interrupting?” Isabela of course.

Hawke wiped his head back to look at the trio with his trade mark rugged features and cool steely stare and dismissed with a curtly “No.”

“Hum. Could have fooled me.” The pirate amusingly snorted.

They resumed their walk back to Kirkwall peacefully, pausing whenever Merrill stumbled on something interesting enough on the ground.

“Maybe next time, you could show me how to pretend to be in Antiva.” Hawke said softly.

He didn’t look at him while saying so, but when Anders did – out of surprise – he saw an odd softeness in the man’s complexion. Was he wistful? Anders wondered. It seemed almost too private to witness. He didn’t respond automatically. He waited until Hawke turned to look at him and then smiled widely.

“I’ll be more than happy to show you.”

 

***

 

“Oh, Lirene! What a surprise.” Anders was standing in the middle of his clinic, talking to a man in leather armor when his friend entered the place.

“Hello Anders. How have you been? It’s been so long since you visited the shop in Lowtown, I thought I’d bring some of the coin that was left from the donation box. You know you have your share from it, though you never bother to come pick it up! I always have to hide it away from my assistant’s eyes.” She smiled humouredly.

“Oh, of course, I was rather busy lately…” he dismissed the other man with a nod, “But… don’t worry about me, you can keep it Lirene, you deserve it more_ what… what are you carrying in your hand?”  He frowned at the little too familiar basket where he could make the also familiar yellow marigolds from where he stood.

“Oh, this? A found a little girl set it by the door, and when I asked her, she said it was meant for you.” She took another look at it, “There seems to be flowers and… oh, is that lyrium potions?” 

But she didn’t have time to finish her sentence that Anders had taken her by the shoulders, “Did she just left? Was she alone? How was she?”

“Huh? No she was alone… Just a little blond girl with a long braid. Why Anders? Is there something wrong?” She asked confusingly.

“No, Lirene could you wait here for me for a minute, I’ll be very quick I promise.” He said hastily before stalking out.

If there was a chance to confirm his suspicions that were somehow half confirmed already, it was now or…

“Hey, you!” He called out to a little blond head prancing contentedly few miles away, about to round a corner. 

The little girl paused and turned to look behind her and Anders took the opportunity to quicken his pace.

When he stood before the child, he bent down a one knee and smiled, “Hello, are you the one who just left a basket by my door?” he asked her kindly.

The little girl looked up at him for a second then nodded happily. To Anders’ relief. He positioned himself more comfortably on his knee and put softly his hand on her shoulder. He couldn’t suppress the thrilling feeling inside his stomach. He knew the answer to his question; he had no doubt anymore, but something about having _absolutely_ no doubt sounded even better.

“Can you tell me who sent you to do it?” he tried with his most healer-comforting smile.

The kid shook his head. And Anders comforting smile fell at once.

“Why? Please sweetheart, I just want to know who it is.” he pleaded the child. He wasn’t about to beg was he?

But she seemed uninterested in his pouty face. “He told me to not tell.” She said too proudly.

Of course, Anders thought.

And it didn’t even faze him that it was really a He.

He stared at the girl for a second and understood that she was a smart one.  She cocked her head to the side with a raised eyebrow as if wondering when Anders was planning to let go of her shoulder.

“Alright, fair enough. But what if… I just tried to guess who it is. Hm?” he tried again, smiling playfully and making it sound like a new little game between them. He saw the corner of her eyes twitch hesitantly as if no one taught her what to do in this situation. Anders continued, “I will just guess and all you will have to do is just nod or shake your head. Agreed?” he suggested hopefully. 

The girl hummed and rolled her eyes in consideration, to finally nod her agreement. “Alright.” She grinned.

 Nothing wrong in guessing. And Anders has always been good at those games. He grinned knowingly. “Hum, does he have a… black beard?” his said through a tight lipped mouth that was suppressing his knowing grin.

The little girl shook her head.

Anders tight smile was still stunned on his lips. _What?_  

“What?” But the child stayed unfazed and Anders started to frown slowly. “He doesn’t?” he wondered, hesitantly tilting his head. But the kid shook his head the exact same way much to Anders’ confusion.

“Does he have short and kind of messy black hair?” He wondered.

The little girl shook her head again and without realizing it, Hawke’s picture started to fade from his mind’s eye, leaving place to a faceless stranger…

Anders’s head jolted back in disbelief. “Are you sure?” 

“Mh hm.” She confirmed with a sharp nod.

“He doesn’t have gray eyes? He doesn’t carry a long two handed sword on his back?” Because that was all that came to his mind when he pictured Hawke quickly in his head.

The little girl paused. “The first guess,” And she shook her head, “the second guess,” She nodded.

Anders’ crease between his furrowed brows deepened.

But… It should be Hawke. His mind complained.

Who else was likely to do this? His mind spiraled to those times he picked up the baskets of lyrium and poultices again, to that note he found in one of them – It said something Hawke had told him more than once before… Of course that initial was mean for him. H for Hawke, H for…

And he also carry a two handed sword?

And his mind stopped the search. _No…_

The next guess didn’t come with a knowing smile but more with a worried frown. “Does he have… neck long brown hair, stubbles on his cheeks and…” _Maker please_ , “… Green eyes?”

She nodded.

His next breath didn’t reach his lungs.

He stood at once, fist clenched at his sides. “He wears templar armor?” Justice stirred. Or maybe it was his own muscles, it didn’t matter. 

The girl shook her head.

The mage gritted his teeth delicately enough to not scare the child. One last thing he needed to know.

“One last thing, Tell me sweetheart, did this man met you here? In Darktown?”  he just needed to know, needed to hope…

“Yes.”

_Fucking Maker fuck._

 

_***_

 

He needed someone to go with him. Not Hawke. Someone who wouldn’t care to ask questions.

“Barrett. You are a skilled swordsman, am I right?” the blond mage demanded to the man leaning against one of their mage underground secret hide out wall.

He was a bulky smuggler who joined their cause to help free his daughter from the Gallows. She was his only family and she was only fifteen. Fortunately the mission was a success, but upon seeing all the bruises inflicted to her by the templars’s cruelty, he swore revenge on every templar’s head.

“Nah, I’m not that good. In fact am pretty bad.” The big man snickered, playing with a sharp little knife.

Anders frowned. Barrett rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m a skilled swordsman, what do you need Ser healer.” Anders wondered if he was really the only Spirit Healer in their resistance. After all creation magic was not something any free apostate could learn easily. They tend to learn how to defend themselves against the whole world that want them locked up or just want their skin, rather than how to heal their wounds. 

“I need a service. Would you accompany me to the Gallows right now?”

“A rescue mission? Didn’t hear about one planned for today?” Barrett wondered seriously, straightening up.

“No… actually we will go from the front doors.” the mage dropped his voice a bit low.

Barrett only raised a thick eyebrow. But Anders was the most trusted between them. And to Barrett’s personal eyes, the most highly regarded.

 

***

 

Barrett’s eyes threw venomous glares around them – as if looking for someone who’d just dare cross eye him.

“For Andraste’s sake Barrett, stop it. We’re trying not to drag attention here, not search for the perfect suited metal head to start a brawl with.” Anders gritted anxiously between his teeth.

Barrett grunted but stopped on cue.

The two men crossed the courtyard, turned and stopped before a stall.

“Solivitus?” Anders demanded.

“Yes, that is me.” The kind looking man answered to his name.

“Do you remember me? I’m one of Hawke’s friends. The warrior who…”

“Oh, of course, Serah Hawke.” The mage’s features suddenly brightened upon hearing the name. “Yes… yes I remember you…” he confirmed with a critical gaze that sized up Anders from head to toe.

He knew he was a mage. “You’ve came alone? Can I… perhaps help you with anything?”

“Yes.” Anders looked left and right before taking a small paper from his coat pocket.

“I need a little service if you please.” He began. “Do you know a certain… knight-lieutenant… Hayden?”

Solivitus features paused for a second. “Yes of course. I know the knight-lieutenant.” his swift eyes dropped at the piece of paper in the fellow mage’s hand. “May I know why?”

“I need you… Do you think you can give him this? In private please.” He handed the folded up note.

Solivitus took it, eyed it briefly, and pocketed in his robes without questions.

“Should I tell him from who it is?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“No. He…” Maker his hand trembled. “He will know. Thank you.” He breathed.

“Don’t worry, I will deliver it to him safely.” he nodded and Anders nodded back then turned on his heels with Barrett’s beefy frame following close by.

 

***

 

His note said ‘I know it’s you. Come see me in my place. Tonight. A.'

At nightfall, Anders turned off the lanterns and started to pace the length of his clinic. Ever since he returned from the Gallows, he hasn’t stop thinking - Unable to focus on anything else but the whole situation. He tried to wonder how the man tracked him down. _Blighted templar hunters._

But then he tracked him down to leave him gifts by his threshold? For weeks he hasn’t try to reach him or showing by his doors? What was the meaning of this?

And that stupid note. To think he thought it was from Hawke. That everything was from Hawke. It made him so… happy for a while. He was so stupid to think he knew him better. _Varric_ knew him better.

At some point his feet started to hurt. He almost sat down on one of his cot when he heard a knock.

Then another.

He jolted up and went to stand in the middle of the room. His staff was firmly strapped on his back. He placed a repulsive glyph in front of him, and a shield around him and his stomach still sunk. He was about to see this man again. And suddenly the last memory of him came to mind. Him, in templar armor bathed in moonlight – saving his life…

_Fuck it doesn’t matter._

“Anders?” he heard the muffled voice through the door. Anders scoffed mentally. Since when templars don’t barge in without any scruple.

 “It’s open.”

And the door opened.

Anders held his breath. It was really him.

When the templar closed it behind him firmly, he knew the man was alone.

“Hello Anders.”  He was not wearing his armor.

“Shove it.”

Hayden frowned.

“What are you doing here.” The mage asked sharply. The air around them cracked with palpable tension.

Hayden tilted his head in utter confusion. “What? It’s you who_”

“No. I wouldn’t have told you to come here if you haven’t come yourself before. So I won’t ask again, what are you doing here? Are you stalking me?” he clenched his fists.

Hayden eyed him with hesitation that soon turned into his known untroubled glare. “I didn’t stalk you. I searched for your address.” He said with new self confidence. “And I found it.” He added with a grimy disapproving look around the place.

 “You are stalking me.” Anders took a step backward and took out his staff.

“Wait, what are you doing, no!” Hayden’s greens widened in surprise at Anders’ sudden move.

“You keep leaving me those… those things by my doors and you say it’s not stalking?” Anders accused angrily, narrowing his eyes into imperceptible slits.

The other man for his part was dumbstruck. “What?” he exclaimed as loudly. “Is this why you are so angry? Because I give you some medicinal herbs and fruits?” his hands outstretched at his sides in sheer disbelief. “I thought I was helping you! In fact, it couldn’t have done anything else but helps you.”

Maker’s fuck why!

“I don’t need your help. I never needed your _templar_ help.” He spat the word like a vile curse. “Why don’t you leave me the void alone?” Then he shook his head darkly, “I should have killed you…”

Hayden intense green eyes suddenly flashed wide and wild, and all at once, the whole light inside the room seemed to have been sucked up inside them. “ _How dare you say that?_ ” He said slow and heavy. “Ever since I knew how you lived, I couldn’t sleep at night without feeling helpless. I wanted to make it better for you even if you didn’t know from where the help came - though I _wanted you to know!_ To know it was _me_ and not someone else. But I was scared. Because I thought you wouldn’t accept it if you knew it came from me. Just like you weren’t impressed when I brought you to the most expensive establishment in Kirkwall. Just like you weren’t impressed when I _saved your life._ So if you want to have a reason to kill me, it’ll be just because I couldn’t stand watching you in this…” he threw his arms in the air around him, pointing to their surroundings, “Living state.” He said bitterly, biting his tongue to not say the more appropriate choice of words he had for the rat hole he was actually dirtying his shinny boots with right now.  

But then his voice dropped all at once into a more soft, deep and sincere tone, Anders’ staff shook in his already trembling sweaty grip. 

“But I will still send to you baskets full of weird herbs and lyriums and anything that could help you do… what you do…” he said incredulously, still unbelieving or unpleased by Anders’ working policy.

That was the reason why Anders wanted to avoid this man. He always, _always_ said the things that weren’t supposed to sound so kind and sincere. That shouldn’t stagger his mind and twist his stomach in incomprehensible disturbing feelings. What to make of him? What to do with him? Justice never had the patience to wonder, and somehow, not to do anything and flee like his old self used to do was the only plan that came to his mind every time. Flee before Justice appeared and did something Anders will regret.

What would he regret exactly…? The templar? The knight-lieutenant of the Order?  Or the unarmored simple man before him.

Anders looked down at the invisible glyph waiting on the dirty floor with a frown. His voice was distant and almost blameful when he said,

 “…why the daisies…?”

Hayden exhaled soundly, looking up at Anders with a new appeased stare. “I don’t know, The yellow color makes me think of you and… It’s just my way of saying… _hello_.” He shrugged, even if Anders didn’t see it.

_KILL HIM_

_Wait…_

_KILL HIM_

_No!_

_IF YOU DON’T I WILL DO IT_

“NO!”

“Anders?! What’s wrong?!”  Hayden faced crumbled into a panicking state. He stalked toward Anders.

“No! Don’t come closer!”

Hayden started to scowl exasperatedly again at Anders constant pushing his every move away.

“Anders_”

“Please.” And Anders lifted his head up, “ _Hayden._ ”

Oh sweet bride Andraste. Hayden felt his heart burst in his chest. As far as he recalled, Anders had never, ever spoken his name out loud. He almost convinced himself the man forgot it.

And if felt so good… But.

Anders backed away more, out of touch and he wished out of view too. Thank the Maker he let the clinic poorly lit and the night helped keeping the place in sufficient darkness.

“Anders, are you alright?” the templar tried with his most smoothing voice.

“Yes. Just…”

“Go. Right?” Hayden finished sourly for him. “I won’t leave you if you’re not feeling well.”

_Stubborn idiot templar_

 “I need time.” He said out of reach in the shadow. He leaned against a wall, massaging his forehead roughly. “To think. Go now. Please go.” He pushed with more edge. An edge that didn’t please the tall, obstinate man.

He stood there silent for a moment. Then resigned himself to the blond mage’s desire - as much as it annoyed him to no end. He didn’t want to push again. He needed time. He needed to think. Fine, he could understand that. At least it’s not a hysterical shout or blunt dull ‘No’. 

“I will leave.”

Anders didn’t respond. Didn’t look up until he heard the cracking of the door open and close behind him

 

***

 

Yes, no one knows better temptation than mages.

But for a certain apostate, temptation didn’t come in the form of whispering demons in the fade that haunted and scared the rest of his fellow mages.

No, this time it took the more subtle form of a little basket full of poultices and herbs and daisies and a scribbled little word that said: _Hello._

Yet it wasn’t less scary…


	9. The jealous ones (part 1)

If you look closely, you would notice it. Behind friends' smiles, you might perceive bits of a green little monster. And you’ll understand then, how much those friends could envy your warm friendly suite. The steady dinners you can have every night, or the good pay of a newly named guard captain.

But you must work hard to detect jealousy. Because friends...

_“And Hawke charged forward, dodged a giant clawed paw, jumped as if wings spurted out of his back and bam, slashed the dragon’s head in the air!”_

_Anders smiled._

Work hard to hide it.

 

***

 

They were regrouped in Varric suit. Celebrating their encounter with a dragon that morning and especially coming out in one piece in the aftermath. Also, Aveline was promoted guard captain thanks to Hawke’s help and they decided to pop open few bottles to celebrate it rather than just pop few bottles… to pop them.

Merrill eyes bulged out in awe. “Creators! I wish I was there too! It sound such an exciting experience!” she beamed, rocking on the edge of her seat.

“Actually, he didn’t dodge those claws all that well.” Anders sighed, shaking his head. It made Hawke beside him laugh deep in his throat. “Ever since I met you, there hasn’t been a single scar left unhealed in my body.” He said pleasantly.

“Neither in mine! I’ll drink to that… for now!” Varric cheered from his spot on the head of the long table.

Anders let slide the little flatter with a smile and turned to face Hawke – who had his left arm circling the back of the mage’s chair, letting him much closer than necessary. “Still Hawke you should have been a little careful. Charging off like that… and you don’t have a shield. What if those claws had reached deeper…” he wanted to add _What if they killed you on the spot? What would I do huh? Huh?_ So he tried to show with his face what he couldn’t say with words. Hoping his disapproving expression will speak how mortified he is deeply at Hawke’s brashness.

But Hawke all but waved his death serious look with an amused one of his own and chuckled. “Don’t worry, I know you’ll fix me back together if something happens to me. I trust you.”

 _Don’t give me this smirk, you hopelessly handsome fool._ “No, no Hawke it doesn’t give you the right to be reckless.” He scowled.

“Yes Hawke, we’ll be all lost without our fearless leader.” Isabela quipped dramatically, mingling in the conversation.

Hawke leaned closer thanks to the arm already circling the mage’s chair, and in a subtle little hushed gravelly tone said, “You worry about me that much?”

Anders looked at him in the eyes, a sudden heat flushing his face at the proximity, the drop of voice, the intense stormy eyes glossy with alcohol, and in a same like hushed tone spurted, “I just… won’t be always with you to heal you _…” Maker knows I wish I could. Forever. Always._

Yes - so that morning, Hawke stopped by Anders’ clinic to ask for his help in the Bone Pit. Anders was busy. And reluctant to leave his patients to investigate a mine in Sundermount probably full of bones if the name was any indication. Ever since the memory of the Blackmarch, Anders had learned how to always trust in the name given to a location. But then Hawke said it was a matter of Ferledans refugees working there and the probability of dragons, and Anders’ head snapped up to see how Hawke was very determined to go there. With or without him. And apparently, preferably with him. He had asked if Hawke had ever fought dragons of any sort. Hawke shrugged, shaking his head nonchalantly.

That was when Anders went to fetch his staff.

They’ve been all injured in the end. Varric caught few burns from the dragon’s breath, Isabela got hit in the head and twisted a leg from dodging the dragon’s tail, but Hawke and Fenris were the one who got the worse of the injuries. It appeared that none of them had ever fought a dragon actually.

Ah the perks of being a Grey Warden… _Around the Hero of Fereldan, please._

Still, perhaps it was worth it. If only for the lapse of time where Hawke swiftly unbuckled the straps of his plate armor and lifted his undershirt to give Anders full access to his flat, board back.

 

This day, he got his hands all over Hawke’s warm naked back. Touched it, impregnated it with his magic, and for a second felt his muscles flex under one last lingering fingertips on the arrow of his spine. So maybe they lifted up their glasses to Aveline promotion, and their first thrilling and safe encounter with a high dragon, but Anders secretly indulged in another personal celebration as he too, lifted his glass a bit from the table.

 

***

 

It’s been another long week since the last time Anders saw Hawke. He got airs of him dealing with some dwarf and Qunari matters, and how he crossed the Red Irons. Something about refusing to kill a nobleman who sent aid to Denerim and was helping Ferledans. They tried to make him pay for the betrayal one night, resulting in Hawke putting an end to the infamous mercenary gang by cutting off their leader’s breath.

Yes, days were passing by. And the baskets of supplies kept coming with them.

Anders retrieved the one left for him one particularly foggy morning and put it on a table.

Apples and berries and a pouch of spindleweed.

Anders picked one berry and tasted it as he pulled away the little piece of paper in the bottom of the basket. It became an act of routine by now. There was always a scribbled note along with the supplies.

After the first one that came the following morning of his meeting with the templar that said a simple little _Hello_ , the green eyed man started to write him same like greetings such as _Good morning, hope you’re all right or Have a good day._ Then those single words became sentences. Became random things like little anecdotes he had just heard, And when there was nothing interesting to say, just simple thoughts; like the one he was currently reading while munching on the sweet fruit.

_I saw many people around the clinic today. Do you have no one to help you at all? Just don’t exhaust yourself. Those raspberries are delicious, eat them all._

Anders snorted. Asking him a question as if he was about to write him back. But he nonetheless smiled. Just a shy little smile tugging the corner of his mouth too quick, as if someone was about to point it with a finger as an act of treason. Yes, he got accustomed to the man’s gifts. No. Donations. And he also had a long discussion with Justice about that night after the man begrudgingly left his clinic.

Justice was seething in his blood. Angry and restless in his mind.

“ _I know he’s a templar, I was happy to finish him off the first time just like you, but he knows I’m an apostate, and yet he never laid a finger on me, though he had the perfect opportunity too.  He didn’t even try to criticize me for being one. And Maker knows I’ve heard non templars do that all my life.”_

_BUT HE IS ONE OF THEM. HE BELONGS TO THE OPPRESSIVE ORDER. HE MADE THE CHOICE TO STAND BY THE ABDUCTORS SIDE AND HELP IN THE IMPRISONEMENT OF THE MAGES. HE HELPS WITH THE INJUSTICE._

Anders had paced back and forth in the clinic, _“Yes I know… he stays a templar… following the rule of the ruthless knight-commander. But… maybe this one can be changed. He seems to be good intentioned.”_

_HE DOESN’T CARE FOR OUR PLIGHT. HE ONLY SEEKS YOUR APPROBATION. HIS ACT IS SELFISH AND IMPURE._

_“… you may be right. I don’t know much about him. I haven’t seen yet a templar who wanted to help mages… beside this Thrask Hawke seems to like to thrust so much… Maybe he’s like Thrask… somehow…”_

_THIS TEMPLAR MAKES YOU WEAK. YOU LET YOURSELF SURRENDER TO HIS WORDS. HE PLAYS WITH YOUR EMOTIONS JUST LIKE THE WARRIOR DOES._

_“No! No don’t compare them.”_ Anders had stopped pacing scowling furiously at the wall, raising a menacing finger at it. _“I already have to live with your constant monologues of how much of a distraction Hawke is. But you simply can’t understand Justice. Unfortunately for you, you cannot control my heart, so you can’t control my feelings_ understand what I feel for him… I… He’s good to me… He helps me, Justice. He makes me feel stronger. He makes me believe there is still hope in people.”_

_WHAT ABOUT THE TEMPLAR._

_“He… hasn’t done anything when he knew I was a mage and an apostate. And I swear Justice I was ready to kill him. But then he... It’s like it didn’t even matter. As if I stated something completely futile to him. It didn’t mean anything to him Justice. And this in return, means a lot. So you will let me handle it from now on. I don’t want you to take over and destroy everything around me Justice. You don’t have the right. It wasn’t what we agreed to at first.”_ Anders had snarled angrily at the air. And Justice growled at the mage’s commanding tone.

HE’S BECOMING A DISTRACTION. AND HE WILL BE A THREAT. A TEMPLAR STAYS A TEMPLAR. HE BOUND INNOCENT MAGES IN CIRCLE PRISONS. WHAT IF HE WAS THE ONE WHO DID THE RITE ON THE MAGE KARL.

Anders’ eyes had widened suddenly at the mention of that name. His scowl had suddenly fell into a pained expression as if Justice had just sprinkled salt in a wound still painful inside his heart.

 _“I will find out who did it. And if it’s him… I won’t need your help to kill him with my own hands.”_ And even he shuddered at his own murderous proclamation.

_“Otherwise, let me handle him. Perhaps he will turn a sympathizer like Hawke is.”_

_HAWKE IS NOT A TEMPLAR._

_“Thanks for the statement, I almost hadn’t noticed.”_ Anders had sneered, gritted his molars in exasperation. _“I won’t judge a book by its cover all right? Just like Hawke didn’t judge me when I told him I am half an abomination.”_

 _YOU ARE NOT!_ Justice had growled loudly and Anders could almost taste the indignity on his tongue.

 _“Maybe, but it takes a lot of convicting and wisdom to see it. And the first step is to treat mages as equals. And Hay… Hayden,”_ Anders had gulped when he said the name out loud - still foreign territory on his tongue - _“has only showed respect toward me. So, yes, I might appreciate the effort. That’s why I want you to let me handle it. I don’t want to judge someone who_ might _turn helpful for us. Just like he hasn’t judge me for being what I am.”_

That’s when the argument stopped somehow. Anders felt Justice’s silence as he retreated quietly back somewhere in his soul. It was nice to beat some sense into the ever disapproving spirit. It took half his energy, and he had been left leaning tiredly on a cot, in need of anything to wet his dry mouth and throat, but at least from then on, he won’t be bothered by the constant threat of bursting out and tear the man apart.

It was only later that day that he had noticed how he fervently defended a _templar…_

He tucked a wounded man in one the empty cots and went to reread the note casually.

It still felt awkward for him to know that the man watched him from afar. He could never make when, but he seemed to know when the clinic was full. Yet he never showed himself. He’d never approached the clinic. He knew where he was but he stayed away. And Anders was grateful for it.

Hmm, maybe he does need an assistant…

“Anders.”

The voice jerked him up from his reverie and he whipped his head to the direction of the door where one Garrett Hawke was making his entry in the clinic.

Hawke slowly advanced toward him. And Anders straightened up, and quickly crumpled up the paper in a fist. “Hawke?”

“I need your help. The vicount’s son has been kidnapped. They said by a qunari. We’re heading to the Coast.”

“Oh. Um… I…I am kind of busy right now Hawke,” he stammered, looking around to point at the patients lying on cots.

Hawke stopped his steps. He narrowed his eyes, spared a sideway glance to where the cots were occupied. He tried again, more quietly, a tad softly. “But I need your help.” And resumed his steps slowly toward Anders.

Anders hid his fisted hand behind his back the subtlest he could. At that moment, Varric, though still standing by the door, caught the familiar item placed on the table with a frown.

“I know. But I can’t just leave now. Those people need me around. Some of them need rest. I can’t just throw them out,” he said with more steadinesses in his voice.

“Leave him, Hawke. The mage doesn’t want to help.”

Anders glanced over the warrior’s shoulder. Fenris. He scowled openly. “How about you come watch over my clinic instead then.”  He bit back acidly at the elf. Of course he would be with Hawke. His presence only made Anders more resolute.

“Sorry, Hawke. Another time perhaps.” And he didn’t know why it sounded harsher and tighter than he expected. But it did, and Hawke all but picked up on it.

“All right… I understand.” He turned away. Fenris and Varric exited the clinic, and just before Hawke disappeared too, he turned his head to glance one last time over his strapped shoulder with an imperceptible vacant pale stare toward Anders who was standing in the middle of the room - with a hand awkwardly hidden behind him.

He didn’t smile like he used to when he left. So Anders didn’t too.

 

***

 

Next day something happened. It happened while Anders was mending a bandage on a little girl’s wrist.

A knock, made him look over at the direction of the door, and jolted up on his two feet at neck break speed.

“Hi.” Hayden said.

Anders heart skipped a beat. Then two. But didn’t move a finger.

“Hum… I just…” the templar raised a hand like a white flag, “Came to bring you this…” and he slowly bent down to put down the familiar little basket on the floor before him. He smiled all the while and rose up without steeping any further inside. As if someone was trying to pass by a sleepy dragon.

“That’s all.” He said.

Anders stood silent like a rock all the while. The only thing moving in his body were his eyes, following every movement warily.

Hayden lingered a little on the threshold. He fidgeted on a loose thread on his sleeve, eyes running around tense and uncomfortable. “Um. How are you?”  He demanded quietly.

“Good.” At least he had time to find back his vocal cords.

Hayden nodded. “I brought you some hot backed…” he looked at his content and back up, “balls of meat buns from this place I discovered near the Alineage. I thought bring in it myself will be faster so it doesn’t get cold… It was so delicious_ I ate you one on the way here by the way,” He gave Anders an incredulous sheepish dimpled grin. “But I think there is still four or five left there so…”

Anders frowned at the rambling. Was the templar really rambling, or was it Anders imagination.

His mouth formed the words “Thank you.” subconsciously.

“I’m sure you’ll love them. They’re filled with meat and vegetables.”

Anders didn’t move.

“Alright. I’ll go now.” And the man turned away as casually and quietly as he appeared.

It was the little girl who broke the spell. “Can I have one of ’em please?”

 

***

 

That is how Hayden started to show up on his threshold. Every time with a another step inward, until he was now standing broadly inside the clinic, a young boy with mussed brown hair beaming over him.

“Are you a warrior Serah?” the youth demanded bluntly with large expecting eyes.

Hayden looked down at him slightly startled with a grin and nodded. “Yes. Indeed I am.”

If possible the large eyes sparkled even wider. “I wanna be a warrior too Serah! Wanna own a big sword like yours!” He pointed his head at the broad sword strapped on Hayden’s back.

Hayden chuckled pleasantly at the youth’s spirits - Anders eying the scene from a distance.

“You could! If you practice well, you’ll be able to wield a broad sword like this one too.” The templar grinned.

 “Can I see it please Serah?” The boy said with a muddy puppy eyed face.

“You mean the sword? Oh. Of course, here.” And Hayden eased the sword with practical swiftness from his back, swirled it twice in the air for show, and brought it down to arm reach much to the boy fascination.

“Wooow…” And Anders could see the boy’s shaking hands as he caressed the white steel with undying carefulness.

 He sighed.

“Why do you want to be a warrior, tell me?” Hayden asked with a bemused look. The boy's round head snapped up at him enthusiastically. “’Cause I wanna be able to protect anyone I want! And be a fearless hero!”

Anders had to hide an amused scoff at that one.

“Can you show me a move Messer? Please!” The boy pleaded with big brown eyes.

Anders snapped and in an instant was behind the boy's shoulders.

“No.” he hissed.  

Hayden furrowed a little. “Why not?!” the boy exclaimed indignantly at his healer.

“Put that away. We rather not have you silent or cleanse this place.” The mage snapped icily.

Hayden frown creased and his eyes lost all wittiness. “I wouldn’t do such a thing.” He retorted back quiet and low in his throat.

“Oh really? I thought that was what you use your swords for generally.” Anders bit back as he unconsciously deepening his grip on the boy’s shoulders.

“Anders.” He hissed softly, he spared a glance at the boy between them, “I won’t do something like that, you know it.”

“No I don’t. And the boy wants to be warrior to protect the people he loves, not use his abilities to lock them up and oppress them.” Anders bitterly countered.

 “What_?! What makes you think that! I never oppressed anyone! Actually an enchanter just shared a joke with me this morning!”

“Oh, was it the joke about two metal pot heads in a bar or the one about swords and skirts?” Anders sneered venomously back, eyes shining with despise.

It simply left the other man frozen at the sudden insults coming from that lush mouth.

The boy cocked up his head between the two men confusingly and asked genuinely when a silence fell around him, “What’s a cleanse?”

Anders and Hayden were too busy frowning at each others in the eye to grace the boy with an answer. But Anders was the first to tear his glare away from the stare matching. “It’s a cruel thing to do to someone. Like if you drain him from the inside. And it’s not a _heroic_ move at all.” He said, mouth curling in disdain.

And the response felt like a painful blow to Hayden’s stomach. His breath caught in his throat. The grip in his sword though tightened. Tightened so hard, his blunt knuckles turned worryingly white.  

But he didn’t say anything back. And it wasn’t because he was out of arguments. No. It was because this was a raw subject Hayden had learned to avoid if he wanted to be tolerated around the blond mage. Anything regarding the Gallows had to be left on the doorstep before he entered his mage’s place. A silent rule. An understatement. The way to the mage’s world. But for how long.

At last, Hayden sighed. And Anders let go of the boy’s shoulders. Which were quickly covered by the templar’s hand. “If you want to be a strong warrior, you’ll need to have a reason to be so, a dream to reach for and not only for strength or fearlessness. Alright?”

The boy looked up expectedly at Hayden’s advice like an eager little apprentice and nodded once firmly. “Yes. Serah.” He beamed, a little too formally for his young age.

“Sorry Anders. I’ll leave now.” He muttered.

And as Anders glanced down at the boy who was still staring at Hayden like he just met the legendary hero from his favorite fairy tale, he wondered if in ten years, the boy will truly become a strong warrior, swigging a same like heavy sword and recalling Hayden’s last words like the holiest voice of wisdom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some stressing issues this last few days,that's why I couldn't sit down and write peacefully. I release this part only because it has been written for a while and because again this chap is LOnG and because I myself miss my story ;_; (lol) Anyways thanks for reading again <3


	10. The jealous ones (part 2)

Anders found himself missing him.

He hadn’t seen Hawke ever since that day the man came asking for help regarding the viscount’s son affair. Was he offended?

 _Did_   _I_ _offend him?_

The last glance he casted at him wasn’t really pleased after all. But, surely, Hawke could understand. He always understood him, right?

He lay down on his slim little arranged bed-cot and tried to have a little sleep, but his thoughts were flowing restlessly in his head. He hadn’t noticed when Hawke became such an important figure in his daily routine. He found himself anticipating his drop by-s. His invitations to the Hanged Man… But now, nothing.

No, not nothing. Someone else was also starting to become a part of his everyday life by being around him a lot. And, worst of all, _he_ came with needed supplies and a much brighter smile than any of Hawke’s.

But then Anders had to correct himself, lying with a hand tucked under his pillow, because the actual worst of it was how children fawned on him like desperate moths. And, to add another layer of “worseness”, he seemed to enjoy their company as much.

_That one time he dropped by, he ended up with two girls in his lap and two boys cross-legged on the floor in front of him, while he was telling some heroic tale, filled with dragons and damsels in distress to please both of genders._

Anders couldn’t for the life of him fathom how the man made him forget that he was actually a _templar,_ who lived in the Gallows and obeyed the commander Meredith, when he was around the clinic.

He came to realize that he was spending more time with Hayden than with Hawke. Well, actually it was Hayden who came to be around him; but still. He didn’t like it.

The only convenient thing about this whole situation was with the absence of Hawke, he couldn’t stumble on Hayden when the man happened to be around.

Yet he couldn’t help but wish that the roles were inversed somehow…

He was starting to doze off on this thought when he heard someone’s knocking on his door.

After all, he had doused the lanterns pretty early that day. After what had happened in the afternoon, he didn’t feel like pushing through the night. He’d been too unfocused and unsettled and yearned for one thing: to drop his head on the pillow and rest. Simply rest. ‘Cause that day seemed too much for him.

As he pushed himself to a sitting posture, his mind went round and about other possible situations. Much worse situations, that included faceless men in metal armors, who could have waited for him on the other side of the door.

He stood up at once and snatched his staff abruptly from where it was lying as he heard another steady knock.

Templars did not knock. But he knew the only one who did…

Taking cat like steps across the room, casting many protective spells on the way, he finally let a breath and called out quietly against the door, “Who is it?”

He was ready, and Justice was always ready.

“It’s me Anders. Hayden.”

Silence fell for a moment.

“Anders?”

Maker, _what? What is he doing here in the middle of the night!?_

Oh. Of course. No use pretending he hadn’t heard the knocking or been there at all. He had already spoken up, so his presence was more than obvious.

Slowly, Anders unlocked the door and opened it enough for him to see nothing but the man.

_He’s alone._

_Like always._

Anders frowned hard. “What _in the Maker’s name_ are you doing here? It’s almost midnight.” Words didn’t come out the way he wanted them to actually. He wanted to shout at him. To snarl at him angrily. After all, he didn’t have the right to come at night as easily as he started to do that same thing at bright.

He just… didn’t have the right!

“I’m sorry, I… I wanted to see you. To talk to you… after what happened this afternoon,” Hayden started as he scratched the back of his neck.

Anders scowled. “Why?”

Hayden shot him a surprised look at first, but then he eased up. “’Cause I couldn’t sleep with the thought of how we had left things at that. I… I’m sorry.” He let his gaze wander up to meet Anders’ eyes. And then something struck.

Something familiar. One moment Anders was breathing evenly, and the next he had his heart up his throat.

And because of the darkness – fully aware their eyes weren’t the same color at all – Anders would have almost confused that look with Hawke’s. The intense, unlike-any-others look Hawke had given him so many times before.

“I thought you knew I wouldn’t do… such a thing.” His brows knitted together slightly in wonder, “You’re still angry?”

Right, he should have stopped staring into those bottomless piercing eyes already. The direct question reminded him to take a breath in, and he inhaled sharply with his mouth. “I am. I was. You shouldn’t…” and the mage let out a long, frustrated sigh. Maker, why was it so difficult to think clear around this man?

Difficult to think without getting confused and contradicting himself. Difficult to speak about what his confused mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And, finally, difficult to look away from the most earnest face ever, the owner of which was standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

“Just don’t do it again.” That’s what his lips formed in reply, and he felt grateful for their improvisation, because the gears in his mind seemed to break down suddenly.

Hayden’s eyebrows lowered a little as he studied Anders’ face, and finally relaxed. “I won’t. I didn’t know it would sc…” he stopped abruptly.

 _No. Not that one Hayden_. “…piss you off.”  Anders vaguely looked away and to the side, while Hayden braced himself for a tentative move. His hand reached softly to cover Anders’. He didn’t have time to praise the Maker for the mage’s acceptance of the tactile move, because he swore immediately.

“Andraste’s tits, Anders, your hand is as cold as ice!” Hayden blurted out with a dark frown.

Still, the hand snatched away from his grip as if it had been burned. Anders covered it with the other, trying to hide it from the view.

“Do you even have blankets or something in here?” And Hayden couldn’t even believe what he was asking.

 _What’s going on? Why does he stay here?  Why does he live here? Where is that fucking bearded man?_ The templar’s mind was spinning round with questions that would have most likely been left unanswered stubbornly, for he knew the man.

“I’m fine. The night is just cold.”

“Why do you spend your nights here? I mean… I thought you’d be staying with your… lover, normally.” He cautiously prompted. And Anders looked up, startled. For a short moment he wondered what the man was talking about. And when realization hit him, he almost laughed at the sad irony. But laughing would have only made things more complicated. So he opted for the “It’s none of your concern.”

“Well, maybe none of _his_ concern. But I beg to differ.” The brown haired man shot back.

Anders blinked. _Why? Why do you to say such things? Why do you have to care? Why can’t you be like the others. Like Hawke. And leave me alone._

And silence lasted for a moment. But Hayden cut the ice short. He didn’t go there, in the cold of night, to Darktown, to listen to the snores of the old man sleeping under the staircase.

“You know, I have a little… house in Lowtown. I don’t particularly use it. I rented it for a while.” _To change my templar’s armor into those sad clothes._ He had wanted to add, but bit back.

Anders looked at him incredulously. “Why do you need a hovel in Lowtown? I always thought templars were well remunerated for their holy services,” he said, voice dripping with mock.

If it had affected Hayden, he didn’t show it. “Perhaps you could use it?” 

“I don’t take charity, thank you.”

“Of course you don’t.” Hayden said in a surprised resolute manner. As if he’d almost forgotten.

He didn’t want to strive. After all, he remembered how much time it took for the man to accept the supplies he’d bought him. And, quite frankly, he wasn’t in the mood for another version of that memorizing night. The mere recalling of the way Anders withdrew his staff after those venomous words…

_I should have killed you_

It made his skin crawl, and he sharply shook his head. Then he sighed.

“Well_”

“But thank you_” Anders blurted out suddenly. And his eyes widened in surprise as he cut the templar short. Hayden had met his surprised look before his eyes relaxed into a soft façade and he smiled genuinely back.

Anders took it as a good sign, “…for the offer. I appreciate it.” He mumbled softly, darting his eyes away from the templar’s face.

“The offer stands. Whenever you want.”

Anders nodded once, and they fell into silence once again. Maker, that was starting to get irritating…

“Hey,” Hayden voiced out, drawing Anders’ attention back. “Tell me something about you.”

Anders was taken aback by the sudden demand that came out of nowhere. “Beg your pardon?”

Hayden all but repeated casually, with a hint of a playful smirk tugging up his lips. “Tell me something about you. I… I’d like to know something about you before I go. Anything.” And he titled his head slightly, looking like every bit of the charming man he knew he was.

Anders studied his face, eyes narrowed. He was shaking his head in astonishment to himself. Tell him something about himself he said? Like what? How he’s not alone in his own body? How he’s considered a Grey Warden deserter? How he was once imprisoned in the circle too? There was just so much of what he could tell him. Somewhere in his head a little voice screamed for him to speak free, to drop the burden down on all of those secrets.

He gave the man another look. He was still standing in front of him, and Anders hadn’t even offered him to enter. Yet Hayden was still there, unbothered, on his threshold all the while. And he was waiting patiently; shadows of faint moonlight were playing across his face, making his eyes look even more dark and bottomless.

And then Anders spoke up, “Those meat buns you brought the other day,” Hayden eyebrows quirked, “I liked them very much.”

Well, he could tell that it absolutely wasn’t what the templar was expecting to hear. “You can bring them again, if you want.” Anders finished.

“Oh… of course.” The templar said, frowning with hesitance. And Anders smiled. With that same kind of a shy, quick little smile that managed to sneak on his lips whenever he’d been reading those notes left in his baskets. The sight made Hayden’s eyes brighten up in the dark. “You got them,” he said with a smiling nod.

Hayden was aware Anders just dodged again. But something felt different this time; because Anders seemed… playful? Teasing? He still didn’t know how to interpret it, but it felt nice. And the way Anders took his lower lip between his teeth and was looking away then began to feel too tempting for his own good.

“I’ll go now.” He finally said, smiling gently. “Goodnight.”

Anders just nodded in reply.

 

***

 

Anders was almost worried now. He hadn’t seen Hawke in another week. It worried him because it was so unusual; Hawke had a habit of visiting him almost every day, even if only to check on him. And the only thing he remembered about the man was his unaffected face as he spared him one last glance over his shoulder. He felt the sudden need to see him. It simply tugged at his mind all the time. Something inside of him was worried about Hawke finding out his… whatever it was with Hayden. But then he shook the thought away. Impossible. He had been very careful, and Hayden didn’t hang around the clinic for a week too, ever since that night.

_Yes, and it’s a marvelous thing, Anders._

He was sitting in the back of his clinic, knuckles against his cheek, going through the last page of his manifesto. He smiled up at it, it has surely taken shape. Still a long way to go, but he was pretty proud of what he’d done so far. But at that he felt that he was unable to continue. His brain couldn’t concentrate for another minute as he got distracted every time he tried to formulate a well-shaped sentence. And Justice was growling with indignation.

But he missed Hawke. Then a sudden thought popped up. Maybe he should go and try finding him? He could try the Hanged Man? With some luck and at this hour, Hawke might probably be there. Anders would have just shown up there… and if he was in luck, he would just play it smooth and maybe ask the man if something happened. _Why don’t you come to see me as often as you used to? Because I kind of miss you, you know._

Or maybe not.

So that was decided. He stood up and neatly arranged his last written papers with the rest of his manifesto in the little chest, hidden in the trap under his bed. Then he buckled his staff on his back and strode out of his clinic, heading to the Hanged Man.

The sun had dawned for an hour already, but the streets of Darktown and Lowtown were still crowded and alive. He would try his luck at the Hanged Man, and if he wasn’t there, Anders would just use the opportunity to see Varric and chat a bit.

Maker, he needed to chat a bit with someone, who wasn’t in his head.

He arrived at the Hanged Man a minute later, full of clumsy anticipation, and upon entering the place, his face broke into a grin as he spotted and recognized the usual jet black hair and broad back, strong shoulders and…

He was with sitting at the bar with Fenris.

The unmistakable white hair and black spiked armor shining in the dim lighting of the bar.

Anders quickly swallowed his excitement and joy down his throat in the form of a bitter heavy lump. They were leaning against each other, heads almost bumping, talking in some secretive sort of way that even Corff was avoiding straying near them. For a minute he wondered what were they talking about. Then he wondered what he was doing there.

He came to see Hawke, that’s what his mind tried to provide him. But obviously Hawke was too busy spending time with someone else.

Oh, so that was the reason he stopped coming. Of course, the man would be moving on with his life. Anders wanted to snort at himself, but was too afraid to attract their attention. Then he looked up again.

_You didn’t need to stop coming downright… was it his idea?_

And all at once the air around him seemed not enough to breathe, and his chest twisted tightly as the green jealousy flared up.

He wanted to believe. In those gray eyes that stared at him so intensely. In those flirtatious smirks and winks, and soft touches, and kind words, in those drop by-s to the clinic just to check on him.

But then, those drop by-s had stopped. And the last time he saw those eyes, they were pale and hard with judgment and Maker knows what else. Offense maybe. Hate? Could Hawke really hate him for he refused to leave his patients and go with him? No… it didn’t sound plausible.

Then Hawke’s hand eased down the elf’s slim back and Anders felt his chest branching out. He turned abruptly on his heels and exited the place before he had witnessed something that would undo him completely on the spot.

It’d been a long time since someone had made an utter fool out of him.

 

***

 

When he arrived back at his familiar sanctuary of a hovel, it was only past ten, but Anders couldn’t keep his eyes open for another minute if Andraste materialized in front of him and begged him to. He felt tired, hurt, and… just tired. He wanted to close his eyes and never open them again. That way he wouldn’t need to blink the useless tears away.

_Just sleep. Just forget that I’m a poor, deluded, convenient fool to be around._

But even in his sleep, peace wouldn’t take pity on him. The plagued darkspawn’s nightmares haunted him restlessly. Rapid flashes of rotten, shrieking flesh charging towards him in the Deep Roads, hysteric laughs of brood mothers echoing from every corner, driving him crazy with fear, because he was alone and there was no other warden – Commander or Nathaniel to protect him and help him out, because he was alone in his dreams. And alone in his life too.

 _That_ made him jolt up to a sitting posture. Eyes wide open, cold sweat breaking out as he inhaled violently. And suddenly it all was too much. He covered his eyes with clammy palms as he broke into sobbing. He let himself loosen up because it’d been too long since he hadn’t had a proper breakdown. And he was sure that he hadn’t shed enough tears over Karl’s fate.

“Maker, he’s really gone…” he whispered shakily at the mere thought of Karl, sobbing quietly in the silence of his clinic. That was until he heard someone’s steady knocking.

He didn’t bother at first. But then the good healer inside of him kicked in and he went unconsciously through a scenario of a desperate human being who was physically suffering, and that would probably hurt more than any emotional pain. So yeah, he got up in order not to deceive this handful of people who still counted on him.

There was more knocking by the time he padded his way to answer the door. It was also pretty early and the people were accustomed to him staying available late through the night and even after the lanterns were out.

He stood in front of one of the doors and took the time to wipe the tears and running nose with his sleeve before opening.

“Oh! Hey!” the voice struck him for a moment. But through his blurred and tired eyes, he still recognized the brown haired head of a man standing in front of the other twin door.

The templar chuckled, “You opened the wrong door, I thought you would be still…” and cut short as he approached Anders. The latter sighed heavily. “What do you want?” He asked flatly, feeling annoyed.

Without waiting for an answer, Hayden swapped the question with another one, “Anders, are you crying? Maker, your eyes are so red and swollen. What happened?!” And the man entered, in a spiral full of concern, frowning and head titling.

Anders didn’t want to meet his eyes, so he looked down and noticed the bag in the templar’s hand. “What is that?” he asked tiredly.

Hayden stopped his scrutinizing to follow the blond’s stare. “Oh, it’s just… well I thought, perhaps you’d like a late snack, so I bought you your favorite meat balls,” he said, smiling tentatively back.

Anders fell silent.

“You remember, you said you liked them. Hum, I also brought a bottle of wine… don’t tell me you don’t remember when you’ve told me you liked them.”

Something cracked. Anders remembered that glass. And the first crack the templar had pierced through it then, in that fancy room.

“You remembered.” He voice came out in form a whisper.

Hayden’s brows knitted together in a serious frown, he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He tilted in head in concern and dropped his voice into a low intimate tone, “Of course I remembered.” He said, making it sound as if that was the most genuine thing to do.

He lifted his empty hand and put in on Anders’ shoulder. “Can I come in?”

Anders stayed still for a minute, with his eyes cold and hollow. After a while he stepped aside just enough for the man to come in.

The clinic was not lit, but Hayden noticed a soft glow coming from a half opened door on the far end of the clinic. It was where Anders slept. He had asked before about it. And Anders pointed with his chin at the backdoor, saying briefly that it was his personal space. Nothing more, nothing less.

He took a deep breath through his flaring nostrils. He wanted to destroy that wretched hovel so that Anders has no other choice but to move into his apartment in Hightown. He would have found him a suitable place to keep his benevolent work if he desired. Because Anders was also the compassionate, utterly selfless being that made Hayden chest twist in love-sickness. When he turned to face the mage, his hand suddenly went slack as he dropped his bag on the ground.

Tears were streaming down Anders’ pale cheeks silently, then he was looking away, eyes half opened as if not even noticing that he was crying.

“Maker’s breath, Anders,” and in a fraction of second, he was crashing Anders’ body into his own, arms around the man, embracing him tightly against his chest, not even having time to consider for a minute that for the first time he got the man that haunt his dreams in his arms, that he was not pulling away, and that he was _holding him indeed._ He wondered if this was not a dream actually. After all, so many of his dreams had felt so real recently.

But then he breathed in the scent of Anders’s blond locks and thus confirmed that he wasn’t asleep. Because he never knew how the man smelled, and suddenly he was flooded with everything he ever wanted to feel. The mage’s natural earthy scent, the feel of his body, so close to his… but something was still wrong.

“Hey…” he eased away, just enough to look back at Anders, and put blond strands away from his face, tucking them behind his ears. “It’s alright. Let’s go sit somewhere, huh?” he suggested tenderly, locking his vivid greens with beautiful wet ambers. Without asking for permission, he led Anders to the back, picking up the food on the way.

Hayden eased Anders down on his mattress. He tried all he could not to roam his eyes around the narrow space where his mage slept, ate, _lived_.

“It’s alright. Talk to me. What is it?” he soothed.

Anders sat on the bed with his back against the wall. “Just nightmares.” He answered dismissively, while trying to wipe tears from his face with the heels of his palms and already damp sleeves. “What are you doing here…”

And Hayden sighed through his nose. “Are you going to ask this every time I come? I thought you became used to my boring presence already,” he said with a tiny bit of mirth in his voice. But when he noted that playfulness was not coaxing any useful reactions, he tried the other approach. The approach that made him angry. “I don’t understand Anders. Why are _you_ here? How comes you’re not, well… you know…” he trailed off for a minute, hating to bring in the reminder of his partner, because it made me him seethe with green jealousy.

He sat in front of Anders to make eye contact direct. And after a round of ducking and cocking his head, he was finally able to lock his stare with those glassy honeyed pools, so soft and so far away. He closed the distance a little, because those eyes helped him find the needed words. “…I would’ve never let you sleep alone if…” he wanted to say ‘mine’, but the word sounded a little too possessive at the moment. “…We were together. So I could hold you like that and tell you you’re alright. And maybe you won’t even have nightmares then, because you’ll know you’re not alone.”

The last part hit Anders with the realization.

Of how much this man knew nothing of him. Yet, he was there. Exactly when Anders was starting to feel the weight of his life bringing him to down his hands and knees, that templar, out of all people, was the one who was soothing him, though he knew next to nothing of him.

Hayden was the one who showed up with his bright grin and bag of hot food on a whim.

_The Maker truly has a strange sense of humor._

When he got his mind focused, Hayden was only a few millimeters away from him now. He was saying something. Anders could see his lips moving slowly.

“That night in the room, I wondered what would’ve happened if we kissed. If my tongue will slip past your lips, if you’d stay… if you’d run away, if it would last,” Hayden murmured.

He brushed his fingers against Anders cheeks and tilted his head in an agonizing slow pace. “So… that time, you ran away…” he said matter of factly, with a drop of humor. “Now it leaves three other options…” he breathed against Anders moist lips, looking into Anders eyes all of the time, keeping a serious expression, as if subtly leaving the mage time to pull away if he wanted to.

And Hayden’s lips posed delicately against Anders, one hand brushing the nape of Anders’ neck, and then heextracted his mouth away. _Too quick._ Anders gazed up at him, looking perplexed.

“Now, I’m going to redo it, but with my eyes closed.”

Anders frowned, confused, “You kept your eyes open?”

“Yeah, so I make sure you don’t go anywhere this time.”

And Anders heard it again. Another _crack_ on that wall of glass between him, his convictions and the templar.

Hayden closed his eyes and reached for that pouty swollen mouth again, and this time, his tongue slipped past Anders lips as he worked the lush lips open.

His hands disappeared in the long loose blond hair, pushing Anders against him, until their chests flushed together close.

Anders let him. He wasn’t weak, but he let that man breathe a little bit of life into him. Because Hayden was there on his own, while others weren’t… He was everything he hated, but right then, _right then_ , he was there…

 

***

 

If you look into the faces around you carefully, you will notice a green eyed monster in certain eyes.

You’ll understand then that we could envy a steady, well-paid career...

Love in a relationship with someone already taken...

The precious time spent with someone we secretly love...

But how can we deal with jealousy?

_Hayden pulled away at last, breathless. Anders could read the satisfaction, as it was written all over his face, starting from his gleaming wide eyes, bright and tender and everything that was not Garrett Hawke. Everything that he would never be._

…In various manners.

But the best way is the simplest.

_“May I have some of that wine?” Anders tilted his head to the side, where the forsaken bag was._

_Hayden looked up, surprised at first, then his lips eased into a grin, familiar dimples emerging, smothering his rugged features and the cheeks covered with stubble._

_“Only if I get a drink too.”_

The best way is to share what we have.

 


	11. The passion (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for ALL those who liked so far. I know it's been a while, but the chapters are starting to get large. (totally taking a life on their own) I don't know how you guys think of long 6000~ words chaps but since it's been a while, I will only cut this one in two parts (I hope!) the next part will follow closely, promise <3

Anders has always considered himself passionate.

Aggressively.

Relentlessly.

Fiercely passionate.

Hayden, on the other side has always considered himself passionate,

Romantically.

Spontaneously.

Constantly passionate.

So it was natural to assume that if in different circumstances, the two ever had to sleep together, it would be incredible.

And it was. Incredibly… frustrating.

For it had been two nights after that first and fully consensual kiss that Hayden spent with Anders in the clinic - keeping him company until he was sure the mage fell in an untroubled sleep - to only leave without laying a single, inappropriate hand on him.

 

***

 

“Hey there, Blondie.”

Anders immediately recognized the voice but still pulled on a surprised face. Because well, it had also been a while since he hadn’t seen the dwarf too. “Varric,” he answered evenly.

The rogue padded subtly inside the clinic, carrying inside his usual air of wary mirth and expensive half-opened tunic. He was swirling a thin arrow between his gloved fingers casually, and Anders noticed how his eyes were roaming suspiciously around, as if inspecting the place for something particular…

Anders tipped his head slightly, furrowing his eyebrow.

“You know, I almost believed you’d have grown a beard ever since I last saw you!” Varric teased and glanced back to the blond man standing a few feet away.

“It’d never suit me and I don’t think it’d be practical. Though it might come in handy, if I had ever needed to lure the templars off,” he offered with a pleased snort.

“Ha! I wonder if you’d cut your hair or let it grow to fall all over your face,” Varric snickered pleasantly.

Anders returned to his vials and flasks, looking like he was trying to concoct a new potion that was already looking creepily darkish, and didn’t raise his head when he replied, “no cutting off my hair.” He liked his hair. It might have annoyed him when he was too concentrating on a spell and came falling on his eyes, tickling him, but… It was still something he held dear. Though it used to be longer. Just how everything in him used to look prettier… Oh, what’s the point.

Varric chuckled. “So, where have you been hiding? You might not know it, but some of us miss you! Hawke, Rivaini, Sunshine, even Daisy, though you’re always pretty hard on her, she likes you very much.”

Anders scoffed. Internally. Hawke was positively not missing him. That’d be the reason why he had stopped visiting him. He still didn’t know the exact reasons. Everything was always pretty fine between them.

But then… perhaps he had decided that Fenris’ company was worth more than his.

“I appreciate it.”

“By the way, Blondie, what about that weird deal with the anonymous baskets? You found out who was behind it?”

Anders looked up with his lips sealed tightly, trying to force a smile. “You were right, Varric, it wasn’t Hawke.” And returned back to his mixture.

“Oh, so you found out who it was?” he ventured tentatively with a quirked eyebrow.

Anders’ features softened for a second. Then he responded with a smooth, “No.”

“Perhaps it’s a secret admirer! Have you thought about that?” Varric pressed on in a bemused tone.

Anders decided to indulge his curiosity with a conspicuous smile and a

Perhaps.”

 

***

 

“You talked to him then?” Hawke asked in his usual passive tone. He was sitting to Varric’s right in the empty suite, elbows propped on the table, a mug of beer still untouched in front of him.

“Yeah, Hawke.” Varric sighed, “I did. Though I wonder why you send me when it’s you who obviously wants to do the talking.”

Hawke stayed silent and glanced aside, lost in what looked like a complex thought. He didn’t even indulge Varric with his non-committal grunt when he was agreeing on something but too lazy to reply properly.

Varric decided to nudge in. “He looked well. Calm. He even seemed to be in a pretty good mood.”

Hawke looked over at him with narrowed eyes but still said nothing in a way that told Varric to finish the back of his mind. “I told him to join us for cards and drinks but he declined the offer. You know the song: busy, manifesto, clinic, manifesto again.”

“So he’s not coming?”

“He’s not coming. Hawke why don’t—” But Hawke cut him off with a loud huffed sigh as he faced the other way, and Varric narrowed his eyes. Did he just kind of, gruffly _whined_?  “You know, you won’t gain anything this way.” And he marked a pause, thinking about something, and then added with a conspiring tone, “You might even lose some.”

And that did it. It made Hawke finally pull on some reaction as he snapped his head over to Varric with his first razor sharp glare of the day. “What do you mean by that?”

Varric sighed through his nose. Probably pondering if that was a good idea at all. “I guess it’s not a secret anymore now… there has been someone who sent him baskets of supplies for a while now. And the last time we went to the clinic, there was one too. He… used to think those were from you.”

The sight Varric caught was priceless. A mix of aggravation and bewilderment that was turning Hawke’s features almost unrecognizable even from up close. He wasn’t the one to be bewildered. Always looked imperceptible in the oddest situations. But something shifted inside him now and Varric could almost hear it grating in the warrior’s head.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” he finally let out with an unforgiving scowl.

“Because he asked me not to, Hawke. It was his business after all, and he was persuaded it was you… especially after that note.”

“What note?”

“A note he found one day with the supplies. It was signed with an H.”

And Hawke’s frown creased deeper.

Varric continued calmly, “I asked him about it today, and for some reasons, he seemed to be convinced that it wasn’t you. He said he still doesn’t know who it might be, but…” Varric shook his head, weighting his words, “my little finger calls on the bullshit. He probably found out who it is. And he doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit from the looks of him.” Varric prompted thoughtfully.

Hawke stayed silent and motionless for a while, letting the whole situation settle down his head before speaking out, “And you have no idea who it is?”

“The only thing I know is that your names start with the same letter.”  The dwarf shrugged.

“That’s why Hawke, if you want to act on something, do it quickly instead of mulling over and brooding, because someone else is working on faster, and from the good mood and the full shelves of bandages and potions I saw, it seems to be effective.” 

And Hawke’s face darkened indecipherably. A perfect mask of steel. Varric took a large gulp of his ale, glad that Hawke hasn’t touched his after all. And that his sword was out of reach right now.

 

***

 

“Hello, Anders.”

Anders gave a slight jerk of surprise as his head snapped toward the doors, where a man he hadn’t seen for slightly too long stood broadly by the doorstep. He even had to look twice, but.

Hawke. Anders noted somberly.

He met his eyes nearly a second before quickly finishing his talk with the woman in front of him. She was bowing with gratitude and Anders’ sudden swell of pride didn’t come from the praises and blessings the woman kept showering him with. No. It was more personal. More twisted.

Just enjoying the petty pleasure of leaving Hawke to wait and not giving him the acknowledgement he probably awaited.

He snorted to himself. Hawke was just a hypocrite. Hawke was just a profiteer. He only sought Anders for his convenient healing skills. But deep down, he knew it was his angry dark side that spit the venom out of hurt. In reality, he could never blame the man for his personal choice of companionship. After all that Hawke did for him, he wouldn’t find it in him, couldn’t hate him even if he wished to do so. And Maker knew he wished to be angry. He wished to shout out loud, to fire up at him and explain with furious gestures how it still _sting_. How it hurt in his chest. How it hurt right at that moment, to see him so casually there. Why? _Because I feel taken advantage of, though you haven’t done anything wrong! I feel as if you used my heart and tossed it back at me once you were finished. Because you made me think—you made me hope for a second—why did you make him hope?!_

Anders put an end to this racing of his mind abruptly, trying to control his emotions. His patient has already scattered off, and he still stood with his back to Hawke.

Hawke closed the distance with slow footsteps that seemed strangely hesitant. “Anders.”

Anders took a deep breath and turned to face him with what he only hoped was a composed face.

“Hawke,” he winced to himself. _Too sharp._

Hawke was harboring a strange expression, Anders noticed. He couldn’t miss the way his eyes darted here and there and the slight frown that was tugging on his brow. He looked perturbed…

He maintained eye contact with Anders for an awful amount of time, and Anders was starting to frown in confusion himself. He hoped the warrior wasn’t planning to let him give a start to the conversation because he didn’t intend on putting up with that. Not anymore. And just when he was about to snap annoyingly back at the man, Hawke opened his mouth…

“I need your help.”

And it stung.

 Hard like slap. Because of all the things he thought Hawke would say after weeks of disappearance, that one wasn’t clearly on top of his list. Yet, trust Hawke to never stop to impress you.

Weeks of absence, of silence, and he hadn’t even spared a _‘how are you?’ ‘hey, long time no see’ ‘are you still_ fucking _alive?’_

Somewhere behind them, Varric sighed loudly and muttered something under his breath.

_You want to play it that way? Fine, two can play that game._

“I’m busy as you see. Sorry, Hawke.”

Hawke didn’t flinch. “It’s a mages matter.” He said with a hint of aggravation. Almost a call for Anders’ attention. And well, he had it.

“What?”

“Thrask spoke to me. He wants my help with some runaway mages from the Starkhaven’s circle.” Hawke provided. Now Anders had every reason to scowl openly. And the first thing he had to do was to bring up the name of a bloody templar.

No matter how sympathetic and kind natured that one seemed to be, he was still a man who failed to protect his own daughter, letting her fall in the hands of slavery and Maker knew what else. To Anders, this poor child died from her father’s irresponsibility. Parents were meant to protect their children. _Parents were fucking meant to_. And now he felt even more disgusted. “You’re going to help this templar get those mages back to the circle?” he asked with utter surprise, the cracks of angry blue in his hands and neck flaring spontaneously.

Hawke didn’t seem to be disturbed by it. In fact, he seemed to be bothered by something else. “You think I’d do such a thing?” he asked with a reproachful frown. “I want you to help me guide those mages out of where Thrask had tracked them. There will be a wave of templars coming for them soon, their phylacteries are destroyed. They are free Anders. But the templars know about them. And I… want you with me in this.” He explained patiently.

Anders let his frown soften. Of course. Yes. Hawke wouldn’t… he was many things, but he still stood at the mages’ side. He was at his side in this battle. How could he forget? He let out a deep breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding and nodded in comprehension, but he couldn’t help but develop the sickening feeling of how untruthful and so delusional those words were…

“Being on the run will never be being free,” he muttered bitterly to himself. But then, something clicked in his mind.

“You say there will be templars coming for them?”

“Yes. Thrask is most certainly sure the templars are hunting them and they will soon be on the right track.”

Gears turned in his head, and Anders nodded suddenly with a whole new conviction. He was going to help those mages, yes. But he was also going to make sure of something.

He actually wondered if a certain templar will be a part of this. And the more he wondered, the more he needed to be sure. He _needed_ to know if _Hayden_ would be there. His stomach twisted because of something he couldn’t quite understand, but he grabbed his staff from its place in a resolute manner, nonetheless.

_He needed to know._

***

 

The path to and through the Wounded Coast didn’t leave any time for conversation; as Varric was discussing with Hawke the risks and the probabilities of coming face to face with a horde of armed to the teeth templars, Anders with Isabela and Merrill were trailing close behind, and each of the women was somehow concentrated too much to care about a small talk. They were most likely pondering the same worries as Varric, too. And judging by the way Merrill was chewing on her lower lip, Anders could almost discern her thoughts.

“Why did you come with us? You should have stayed hidden in Kirkwall.” He said quietly when he approached her.

Merrill’s head snapped back to attention. “Oh. No, I wanted to help. I… I wouldn’t deny that I’m a bit worried about facing templars for the first time, but… I want to help those mages too,” she answered with an earnest nod. And it made Anders a little proud. Merrill was a complex girl. Despite the foolish choices she made in her life, when it came to mages’ freedom, she still held to his ground and convictions strongly. She was for the freedom. And as a dalish, it was all that she had.

Merrill looked evasive for a minute, opening her mouth and closing it immediately before finally blurting out with a hush, “You… don’t seem worried.”

Anders paused, and then offered flatly, “It’s not my first time having to face templars. But I’m not completely at ease.”

“Oh. Varric said you escaped the circle ten times.”

Oh that was such an inappropriate time to stifle a laugh. “I think he’s mistaken. Just seven.”

Merrill looked none less fascinated. “Seven is still a lot! I…  I would never be able to imagine how hard it must have been to live locked up from all nature.” She tried with her most empathic tone.

“For someone who likely spent most her nights sleeping under the starry night sky and swimming in clear creeks, yes, I don’t think you could,” and for the second time: _too sharp._

Merrill didn’t seem to be put out by the sudden bite of words. She accepted them with a nod and a soft, “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Because, deep inside, she _did_ imagine.

They arrived at the pike of a hill where the familiar templar waited for them nervously, pacing back and forth before an entrance of the cave. And upon seeing Hawke, he let what seemed to be his first exalted sigh of the day. “Finally,” he said with no introductions, “I thought you’d never come. The mages are inside. The templars are not far behind though.”

Anders shuddered. The templars. He wanted to ask who. The Knight-Lieutenant by any chance? But wouldn’t that sound slightly suspicious at least and very much too precise for a random guess? No. He must focus on saving the mages rather than evolving the twisting feeling of facing those templars.

Still, what could even happen if Hayden happened to be one of them. One of those hunters. How would the man possibly face him? Anders didn’t know. But he knew one thing. He knew how _he_ would face him.

They entered the cave with Hawke at the lead, Anders and the rest following closely. Walking warily through the narrow tunnels that were alight by lanterns on the walls. It looked more of an abandoned mine, and the more they advanced, the more Anders’ nerves cranked up. He hadn’t had time to dwell on the feeling when Hawke stopped short, lifting an arm to stop Anders beside him too.

When Anders looked up, he saw the origin of his worrying. “Walking corpses,” Hawke warned.

Everyone took their battle position, starting with Hawke who, as always, was the first to charge forward. Corpses were easy targets, especially when distracted by Hawke, running straight onwards. Anders’ well placed fireballs quickly reduced those trying to get close to him to rotten, charred flesh, and three of the other skeletons chattered easily into pieces and crumbled into the ground after some struggling with the help of Hawke’s impressive sword. They stood still for a moment, catching their breath.

“They raised the deaths,” Anders stated grimly. Blood magic. So that was why he was feeling uneasy. He tightened the grip on his staff. How many times will he have to witness those atrocities?  Mages cornered by fear and desperation, just like that templar’s daughter. Those runaway mages just wanted a chance to stay free. How many of them were good and sane people who were shown no mercy. No one could understand the pull of freedom more than those in circle. Maker knew Anders did. But… the only thing this kind of behavior did was destroying his kind’s reputation and making everything the templars said or did seem rightful to the rest of the Thedas. He survived, right? Hawke’s sister did, too, didn’t she? And so many others, hiding their nature at the cost of having a semblance of life free among the rest of people. Like Hawke’s father again.

But he knew it was a vicious old circle. Everyone needed to understand that the captivation and isolation was only driving these innocent people to their last devices. The Chantry was responsible for what it constantly foolishly feared.

And then, there were the innocent ones who were deluded enough to trust into the Chantry’s laws…

“Please, wait, don’t kill me!” a boy shouted out, bursting from the corner, almost tripping on his circle robes. “I will go back, I don’t want to die!” he shivered. He was wild eyed, his hands were crossed on his chest, gripping his forearms in a defensive manner. Anders knew that fear. That stance. Knew it all too well from personal experience. “Don’t worry, no-one will hurt you. What’s going on here?” he asked quickly to calm the boy down.

“I… I only wanted to get away… Decimus… he helped us break free… He said we could live free from the Circle and the templars… I never wanted to stay in the Circle, but I never wanted to be involved with blood magic. I would go back.”

Anders turned to Hawke, “We have to help him.”

“There is a templar outside. His name’s Thrask. Surrender to him and you’ll be fine.” Hawke said.

“I will.”

Anders snarled at Hawke, “Thrask or the others templars, it’s all the same!”

“Thrask will show him more mercy, Anders. He’ll be in good hands. If we let him all on his own, the templars will find him for sure.” He explained patiently. But Anders wasn’t buying it. It was all a big vicious circle; he damn well knew it and it irritated him to no end. “It’s not fair,” he hissed not particularly to Hawke.

Hawke regarded him with something close to compassion. “I know, Anders. But right now, that’s all we can do. We have to keep going to see to the rest of them.”

That’s all they could do… maybe right then. But things must change. _They just must._

In the end, the boy was right. Decimus did turn to blood magic. As soon as they came into view, Anders hasted forwards, lifting his hands to show them his staff, his magic; that they were alike. But he wasn’t fast enough, and Decimus was already lost in a frenzy of fear and anger.

Hawke was foolishly trying to break through the waves of magic that was washing over him. Caught in the strong grasp of sudden fear, Anders reacted quickly, putting dispel aura on, but it wouldn’t have had an effect as strong because of the blood magic. He concentrated on Hawke who engaged the desire demon toe to toe; Merrill concentrated on Decimus, while Isabela and Varric got rid of risen deaths, who were trying to get to mages.

Feeling depleted, Anders threw the last ball of magic into Hawke, cursing him with passion to himself. He was feeling very much exhausted, though the battle soon resulted in the death of Decimus with the final stroke of Hawke’s sword.

A woman scrambled on her knees to where the body was lying, crying, as the man was clearly dear to her. Anders really felt for her. He knew the loss of someone dear. But he still couldn’t help but agree with Hawke as the latter harshly explained that he hadn’t left them a fraction of second to explain themselves.

Hawke began to expound the situation over to her and the rest of scared apostates. The woman who answered to Grace, demanded Hawke to kill the templar standing by the entrance as it was the only way out. They only wanted to leave and be free. But as Hawke shook his head and refused, Anders couldn’t help but step in. “Better the death of one templar then the one of many.”

Hawke turned to face him. “I will not kill Thrask. He’s a good man.”

“Then what’s this all about?! Didn’t you say we were going to help those mages? Handing them to Thrask or to other templars makes no difference!”

“I will speak with Thrask, Anders. I’m not handing them to Gallows.” He said with a hard tone. Anders held his glare for a minute before taking his lower lip in his mouth and tearing his gaze away. Was it all that simple? To set the mages free in front of a templar’s stare? The man seemed to want all but a peaceful resolution. Could he really turn on a blind eye for Hawke’s sake?

If there hadn’t been Hawke around in this, he knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill the templar. Let’s shall see how Garrett Hawke’s plan best his if he claimed to have the same purpose. Sometimes there was just no compromise to be made. He hoped Hawke could see it too.

Hawke walked toward Varric and discussed something up. At last, he turned to face Grace and her fellow mages and explained the plan. If everything went smoothly, there would be no need to kill another person, and Grace and her fellow mages could escape their way out of this.

But when they arrived to the mouth of the cave, as the sunlight started to wash over them again, Anders halted. There was another templar standing before Thrask. Anders’ breath was caught for a moment as he scrutinized the man. No. No glossy brown hair and dark stubbles and bright green eyes. Others from his group were rounding him few feet behind. And Anders tried to check out each one of them though some had their helmets on. Anders cursed in his mind. But surely a Knight-Lieutenant wouldn’t mingle with a bunch of eager recruits and hunters.

Right, if he was there for the mages, Anders was sure he would be leading the group. Who seemed to be this one. And he was demanding an explanation for how was the boy they found earlier the only one left of the apostates.

Anders saw the glint of violence in his eyes right away. Thrask was right, there would be no mercy if they handed them to this group of templars, only a bloody massacre. 

Hawke and Varric stepped outside and assumed those violent eyes.

Afterwards, Varric used his tell tales skills to talk straight out of his arse and it almost didn’t work until the templar Thrask joined the masquerade and wisely advised the templar to look into the backside of the cave that emptied into the sea, as it would be a waste of time going down from the one oblivious entrance.

Anders never thought the templar would risk himself and his position to help apostates. Visibly, Hawke had a good reason to keep this man alive. Anders gave it to him non too reluctantly; he had a good instinct regarding who he put his trust into. Even Grace was surprised, when they emerged from the cave moments later. She didn’t hide her suspicious glare as she sized up Thrask warily before turning to thank Hawke.

Anders eyed the boy beside Thrask. It was too late for him. The boy’s cowardice was what stopped him from following the other mages. He felt sorry for him as his head was dropped down in sadness and regret. Anders was furious. This boy fled just because one of them started to use blood magic. He looked like he would never kill a fly unless it was agonizing. It was unfair, that boy deserved freedom more than all those despicable non-mages. But he promised himself he will see to him later.

“What’s your name?” Anders asked.

The boy lifted up his head in surprise at being addressed. “Uh, Alain, Ser.”

Anders smiled weakly and gripped his shoulder. “Stay safe, Alain,” and he added a little pressure to his squeeze, “hold on tight.” He said with a face set. There were just too many people around to say what he wanted to, but he fixed Alain intensely, hoping his eyes were able to pass the message.

  _Hold on tight, because we will come for you. It’s not over yet. I will not let you down. Just stay safe, please._

***

 

When they returned to Kirkwall, it was already mid noon. They started to dispatch at some point in Lowtown as Merrill headed to the Alienage, and Varric and Isabela to the quickest way to the Hanged Man. It left Hawke and Anders in a very uncomfortable silence as they kept walking.

“I will continue to Darktown” said Anders.

 “I’ll walk you there.”

“No need.” Anders almost jumped on the words. And it made Hawke stop to look at him.

“You don’t need to bother yourself, really,” Anders tried more smoothly.

But Hawke kept looking. His brows were knitted and if Anders knew better he would have thought the man was disappointed _and_ bothered by something.

“Alright. Suit yourself,” Hawke voiced with his non-commitment what so ever tone.  

“Hawke,” Anders reached out with his voice. He couldn’t bear that look. Flames overtook him but it was hard to ignore Garrett Hawke looking so unnaturally unsettled. “I appreciate what you did today. It means a lot to me… you helping the mages.” He quickly added with his first attempt at actually smiling.

“I just did what must have been done,” Hawke replied earnestly. And this man was giving Anders shivers, sounding so valiant to his already fearsome, rugged features. And all at once Anders finally knew why Varric picked up Hawke as the star of his storytelling adventures. He did carry a valorous aura around him. Almost heroic…

Anders smiled softly, “I’m glad someone like you is in our side. Not many dare cross the templars path. But you do. And you do it with no apprehension. You just…” Anders paused, waving his hand and struggling for the right words. So many things he wanted to tell. And Hawke was still watching with his big determined pools of gray… so in the end, he settled with, “do what must be done,” breathing out with an affectionate shrug. “So… Um. Thank you, I’ll go now.”

“Wait,” Hawke called out, “I’m going to check on Bethany and Mother now and I’ll be in the Hanged Man for the rest of the evening. I guess everyone will want to shake off the pressure of this day so… maybe you can… join us later. When you’re free.”

Anders stared back for a moment, face indecipherable before replying. “I’ll try.”

And they parted on those words. The dark-haired man was nodding but never pressing on as usual, and Anders already working his mind over his next step…

 

***

 

Anders had never thought he will find himself one day waiting frantically for a templar. But as soon as he came back home and opened the clinic, he began to pace back and forth, wondering when Hayden would finally show up. It wasn’t like he was awaiting his arrival; in fact, he wished the templar had an organized schedule for his visits. He only hoped the man was really going to show up. And that was something… new. 

But since when Hayden disappointed him?

“Hello, Anders,” the rich voice resonated later on.

“Come over,” Anders demanded with a head tipping.

Hayden let himself inside in his usual manner, showing the flicker of relief at being welcomed, despite the many times he came, and the sly critical deprecatory eyes around the large piteous place. 

Still, when he stood in front of the blond mage, he made sure none of that was showing on his face.

“I missed you—” he started but Anders, to his surprise, cut him off abruptly with a raised hand.

“Listen. I was waiting for you today. I hoped you would actually come.” He started. And it made Hayden’s features go from surprise to disquiet.

“Is everything alright?” he tried quickly.

Anders let out long and heavy sigh, as if they’d been talking for hours. “Hayden. You want me to trust you, right? You want me to give you a chance.”

Hayden didn’t nod. He kept silent. Anders voice and eyes were shrouded in seriousness, and the other man couldn’t do anything but to stay still and give him all the attention he surely awaited.

Because that was the very first time Anders stood before him with an earnest accentuated face. The way Anders dived head first on the – whatever subject that was going to be – was a fair alarm signal that he wanted to discuss something very important. That he didn’t want to bother with a small talk. That this was serious matter and Anders was willing to share something serious with him.

Yes. He would stay quiet and listen.

Anders continued, “because… I can’t… have you here… and still have doubts about your intentions. I need something that will prove me you’re safe to be around.”

Hayden frowned. “Anders, after all this time, you still think you’re not safe with me? Maker, I was right here the night before, holding you and keeping you company until you fell asleep! You… you still think I would hurt you because… I’m a templar?”

Anders countered with a frown of his own. “Yes. Because all the templars brought me was a life of running and escaping and dodging blows and swimming cold as ice lakes over on winter nights because it was the only way to put distance between me and the tower.” He lashed out while taking notice of the wide-eyed, mouth gaping expression that fell suddenly over Hayden’s face. But he committed himself into finishing his point and not giving time for the man to question him.

 “That is why I cannot trust you. And food and supplies will not erase the hardship life I had because of the templars,” Another expression rejoined the mix of explicit emotions dancing all over Hayden’s features. Hurt.

But then Anders went on, “but… I’m willing now–today, to make an exception.” He breathed out with more difficulty that he thought he would need. Mostly because Justice was making it hard for him to put vowels and consonants together and tell what he wanted to. But Anders decided they reached the point when decisions had to be taken. That he needed to wrap his mind fully around this man who kissed him so passionately and spend the night with him to make sure Anders didn’t have nightmares…

“Yes. I lived in Ferelden. As I told you. And more specifically, in the Circle of Magi. Ever since I was twelve,” he confessed. “I was on the Wounded Coast today.”

“What?” Hayden said, perplexed by the abrupt swing of topic.

“You weren’t on the Wounded Coast, too?” Anders continued as if he was not interrupted. 

“No… I was…” Hayden  was fully aware of the next word and how he made sure would never be brought around Anders for safe reasons, yet he wasn’t about to lie. “In the Gallows. All day long.”

Anders inhaled softly. “But you do know about those Starkhaven mages who ran away from the Circle, right.” It wasn’t a question. Just a need of confirmation. Of course the Knight-Lieutenant would be well aware of such a case.

Hayden’s face couldn’t hide the knowing flash that traveled across his eyes at the moment. And with a suffered sigh he nodded, “yes, I know about them.”

Anders took a precautious tiny step forward, “I was there.” he said slowly, quietly, “And I helped them escape,” he admitted with lifted chin and defiant honey eyes. After all, it was the whole point of this. To showdown and expose his cards openly – not all of them – and see what would happen then.

Hayden looked at loss of words. And Anders decided he could understand that. So he waited patiently and tensely for him to collect his thoughts and… see what would happen.

Finally, Hayden opened his mouth, “Wait, how did you know about all this? About those mages?  How did you know they were on the Coast?”

Anders wasn’t quite anticipating the following question as his eyebrows raised up with startle. “I… It was Hawke who had known about them. I went with him. Though I can’t tell you from whom he got the information, sorry.”

“Hawke?” The green in the man’s eyes flashed after a quick pause. “Hawke. So that’s _his_ name huh?” His reply was snide. “Well, this matter has only been confined on to us early this morning. So only a well ranked templar would’ve heard about it.”

Anders snorted. “Well it’s always a nice change to meet smart templars, for it’s not their brains they tend to use first while launching off to conclusions.”

“So, this _Hawke_ seems to have friends among the Order, but that don’t seem to bother you.” Yes, he was getting pretty good at sidestepping Anders’ blunt spoken insults.

And though Anders hated it, the man did have a point. For Hawke had weaved well his ways around the Gallows themselves. “He… helped the Knight-Captain once,” he admitted begrudgingly. “But it wasn’t him who told us about it. So leave it.”

“The Knight-Captain…? Oh, I remember now—that day in the Gallows… he was indeed talking to Cullen.” He said thoughtfully, visibly restoring the pieces of his memories.

Anders huffed loudly, shaking his head, getting Hayden’s attention back. “Listen, we’re getting out of the point now. I waited for you because of a reason. I… those mages, I helped them escape. And now… there is a chance to prove to me that I can trust you, Hayden,” he said with a sincere frown. “Because that’s who I am, and seeing as things… are going… I need to make some things straight between us. And one of them is to see if I can trust you… trust you enough to _not go_ after those mages. Or help buying them time to go as far as they can.”

A heavy silence stretched after that. Hayden was working on all of confessions that hustled into one single phrase to him and Anders was looking like he had just unleashed a bomb and regretted it instantly.

“I see.”

“You must understand that this is very important to me. This is… this is who I am. I was in the circle. I saw the cruelty first hand. I _hate_ the templars.” He deadpanned. “I hate how they were the reason I’ve been taken away. For good. I hate how they imprisoned me _. For good_. How they stormed one day and decided to rule over my life. How they made me swim that Maker forsaken Lake seven times for a few days of freedom. How they—” And Anders’ voice broke, making him unable to finish, but he wanted to finish even if it was the most intimate and horrifying memory of his life.

“How they _…_ ” because it was the indelible truth and he wanted to see _this_ templar’s reaction to it. “… locked me up in solitary confinement for a _year_.” he broke out and Hayden’s eyes bulged out in stun.

“I despise them. And if you want to be around me, you have to understand that fact. But.” He sized up the last word as Hayden’s face twisted in a tight hurt line. This sentence shouldn’t have had a ‘but’. There shouldn’t be anything to add after that statement. Yet Anders was willing to give a chance, looking at the face of this man still standing straight and hopeful in front of him.

 “I’m willing to try and let you in. Because you haven’t reacted as any normal templar would’ve. You… despite everything I told you, you still haven’t done anything to harm me. You’re just… I _need_ to put this trust in you Hayden. It’s overriding to me.”

Hayden puffed. “Maker’s breath, I’m so happy.” out of the blue.

“… Happy.” Anders repeated as if making sure he heard it right.

“Yes,” the templar exhaled, “You don’t know how much I wanted you to finally open up to me, and now, you just did it and so much more… oh, Anders, I’m so sorry.” And in a shot, closed the space between them and pulled the man into his arms.

Justice’s first reaction was to bolt up. But Anders scrunched his eyes shut and tightened the grip on his control. Because, unlike the spirit, he knew there was no need to be afraid. Because the templar had already held him like that many times.

Really? How many times had he held him in his arms already…

The man was still talking though, while Anders was focusing solely on Justice’s restlessness. “I do want you to trust me. I… I see now—I understand. I won’t let anyone get to you, Anders. I swear in the Maker’s name, I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not anymore…”

Hayden kept saying, talking, but Anders couldn’t wrap his mind around any words. Caving in a spiral of palpitating emotions and realizations. His heart was beating faster with every promise the man chanted; his head swimming every time the man tightened his grip around him like Anders would vanish with his next breath. Justice was fuming, but what in the void was that? He was melting in this man’s embrace and he was feeling it in his knees as it began difficult to find his balance. He was...

Hayden kissed his temple tenderly, still whispering Maker knew what, but Anders caught the words ‘so sorry’ and ‘sorry’ again.

Why was he apologizing actually?  After an indefinite while of time, Hayden finally let go of him enough to lock those piercing emeralds eyes with Anders’. “I also want you to trust me Anders. I… I don’t want to leave you here tonight. Would you have dinner with me?”

Anders averted his stare, “Hayden, I’m not really in the mood to go to some extortionate luxurious—”

“I mean in my house… in Lowtown.”

“Oh.”

Hayden, for his credit, did look slightly shy and hesitant. Which… only worked on his favor because he was insufferably gorgeous that way. And he remembered the way he met the man. He seemed so strangely different. That time he didn’t know what Anders was, and took him for granted as he was in a very easy context after all. But the man, who turned to be a templar and had known about him being a mage afterwards then, instead of doing what templars did best, began handling Anders in whole new way. As if he suddenly pulled on some child gloves or… was walking cautiously and slowly on egg shells.

 _It had to mean something, right?_ Anders thought. Did it mean that the man was serious about this? Despite all the free hating Anders spit at him constantly? Did it mean the man cared _that_ much?

_Oh, sweet Andraste…_

“Say yes, please.”

Anders stared back at him, and ignored it all for just a moment - just a second - just what it took to say,

“Yes.”


	12. The passion (part 2)

As soon as the slab of wood closed behind them, Anders panicked. The same panic he used to feel when Hawke dragged him to the Gallows with him. The permanent anxiety of being surrounded by templars in their domain. Only this time, it was only one templar, and the domain consisted of an average empty space, apart from a table and a chair against the wall, a bed in the opposite corner and a hearth standing close to the door.

“So… this is it, I guess.” Hayden scratched his neck. “I warned you it was pretty lame—”

“It’s a hovel, alright. But I know you don’t choose this _second_ place to keep you warm through cold nights.” As the mage said that, he caught the gleam of something resting in the chair and on the table. And all at once, his wonderings ceased. “Oh, I see now,” as the shining gears twinkled back at him in the dim light as if winking at him.

Hayden took hold of Anders wrists abruptly and spun him around to face him, “No, see _me_.” he fervently said before surging forward and slotting his lips with Anders’ dry ones.

And it went on from then. Kiss after kiss, Hayden tipping his head, changing angles every time, traveling his hands in Anders’ shoulders, arms, neck, hair, wanting to feel every dip of the blond’s body, while the latter succumbed plainly to every touch, every stroke, every pent up caress.

“I want you,” he heard somewhere between lavishing kisses. “I want you.” The man repeated. And then again, and, oh dear Maker, _again._

He didn’t know he was directed to the bed until he felt the mattress against his back. It wasn’t as hard as on what he used to sleep, back at the clinic, and it had a much warmer blanket on top. But the way Hayden descended on him again made him forget all about comparing furniture.

Hayden’s hands trailed from his shoulders, chest, waistline, and came to rest on the inside of his tights as he lapped at Anders’ mouth restlessly. His swift tongue licked the lower lip, already deepening the kisses.

Anders never thought it was possible to feel so many contradictory feelings in the middle of such an act. There is still the reluctance, and the worry, mixed with some kind of anger, probably coming from the spirit, though he could also direct that anger to himself as he was allowing his body to fall for something so low. Something he despised and swore to never do again. But he also felt desperate, and hungry, and so aroused. When was the last time someone kissed him so desperately? Someone who desired him so effortlessly the way Hayden seemed from the very start? Yes, he thought he was beneath those petty needs of drawing all attentions on him but _blast it,_ it felt good to be desired. To be _so strongly desired_. Yes, so maybe there was still a part of him that wasn’t so below those kinds of feelings. That there was still some lasting, unextinguished flame inside, that yearned for this attention and this physical contact. Justice could seethe all he wanted, Anders was only human after all.

So when he finally reacted and slipped his tongue inside the other man’s mouth, it elicited a loud pleased moan from Hayden that went straight to Anders’ groin.

Their tongues bated languidly, Anders felt drunk from the rushed sensations of the heavy, hot body on top of him, crushing him against the mattress, all while Hayden’s hands began to work on his clothes. He quickly found his way around the strap that kept his pauldrons knitted together and eased them down on the floor, then went for the buckles of his coat, undoing them fast one by one…

“Whoa… you’re—you know your way around those straps…” Anders said blushing, amazed by Hayden’s swift efficient fingers.

“Well,” Hayden grinned between excited pants, “You wear these same clothes since I met you, so what could I do had beside leer at this coat all day.” He teased as he unbuckled the last strap and pushed it away to join the rest of the garments at the bed foot. 

“Oh, Maker…” Anders breathed out. Not from the sudden chill traveling his body but from the sight that just appeared in front of him. Of the templar taking off his long sleeved shirt with one rapid move and tossing it somewhere aside without watching, nothing left to hide but naked sun kissed skin and defined muscles looming on top of him like a hawk.

 If the man had already a handsome face, his body was perfection craved out of marble. And Anders eyes darkened, heart drumming with desire and lust. His cheeks flushed red at the idea of Hayden knowing exactly what his nakedness was doing to him. And when he followed the dusty trail of dark hair going from beneath the navel to the dip between his flesh and his pants, finding the obvious shameless hard on, he bit his lips to cover an equally shameful moan. 

“Let me,” Hayden husked lowly. He meant the last remain of Anders’ clothes. Shirt and trousers.

Hayden descended on him with more delicacy. Unware of the sudden rush of panic that flashed across the mage’s face. He meant to stop him down there. Raised his hands to halt him but Hayden had already been lifting up his long shirt just a bit and kissing the first peek of pale skin. It took Anders by surprise, and he hissed, jerking up his hips slightly from the mattress. Hayden continued, dropping pecks and kisses with every bit of skin revealed - until the shirt hung up the chest, the collarbones to finally slip off the shoulders.

They stared at each other for some time. Both drinking in the sight exposed and both clearly liking what they were seeing. The darkness was not total thanks to the little lamp oil on the table creating enough dim light and shadows across the wall to discern what was needed to be seen. Anders couldn’t bring himself to move. Putting him in the same situation in some other time, he would be running his mouth about how much the other man was going to keep staring before getting back to work or something equally sassy and shameless.

But times had changed and took with it Anders’ self confidence and seductive skills. He knew it left him his body skinnier and his face too pale, his eyes too tired and his shoulders too hunched. So he averted his eyes and glanced to the side. Just when he was sickened by the feeling of failure, Hayden spoke out low in his throat,

 “Maker, you’re so gorgeous.” And dived in to kiss that pouty mouth again with renewed vigor.

From then on, Anders forgot when or how their trousers came off too. All he knew was the blood pressure rushing everywhere in his veins and how his hands circled at some point the brown haired man’s neck to drawn him closer. Closer and closer, and thought there had already been no space left between them, it still wasn’t enough.

_I miss this. I missed how much I loved this. How good I was at this. How good it felt, doing this. It’s alright, it’s alright, I can trust him, he’s not like the others, he’s good, he feels so good… Oh Maker yes, there…_

_“_ Anders, I want you so fucking bad…” Hayden breathed in hoarse voice, hips franticly grinding back and forth against naked paleness.

 “Please, want to be inside of you…” the larger man panted, hands already sneaking around Anders’ tights, spreading them wider and wider, until one leg was practically hanging off the bed, and Hayden positioned himself between them, giving the inside of each an open-mouth kiss, then returning to suck on the sensitive skin, because he wasn’t anticipating those tights to be so irresistible; and it turned Anders into a puddle of moans and made him writhe with desire, as his hands fisted in the sheets and the man’s hair… “Hayden…”

The feathery fingertips touch sneaked deeper inside, under Anders’ balls and taint to find the tight opening. Anders couldn’t help the first escaping loud gasp at the sudden too intimate touch. But quickly melted down against the pillow when Hayden started to kiss and lick on Anders’ hard cock insupportably slow.

Alright, Anders thought, the templar was not an expert at sucking cocks but he still managed to give an enough job to fire up his core with liquid pleasure. And with the tentative fingers prodding softly around Anders’ hole in agonizing circles and the distance between the last time he was in the same situation made it all impossible for the blond man to hold on his next words,

“Stop—stop _ah_ —I’m close…”

“No. No, hold on, I don’t want you to come like that,” Hayden half growled and pulled out his mouth with one last lick. “I’m sorry I… I don’t have anything… you know, to prepare you…” he apologized, looking every bit frustrated and upset.

Again, that old Anders would have stricken with at least six different solutions to this trivial issue. But right that moment, he was still wondering what he was actually doing so if Hayden didn’t decide on something soon, he was going to explode, and not from the weight of burning up emotions alone.

Anders thought the man could read it all of that on his face because he leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Anders lips whispering, “I’ll try not to hurt you, I promise. I’ll go slowly…” and with that, put two fingers in his mouth until they were shinning with spit and brought them back to Anders’ entrance.

Oh, well, that was one of the six solutions Anders detachedly thought about.

 _Oh_ and how it was still working wonders…

“ _Oh_ … Oh maker’s breath—slowly… it’s been a while, _mgh_ —” Anders tried with a pinched face. 

“Fuck you should see yourself, you’re so fucking beautiful like that, and you feel so good down here…” he prodded a bit deeper. Adding more pressure with every moan and heavy breath he pulled out of the mage’s lungs; every whine of pleasure was heating up the space around them, and soon they were swallowed into a floating bubble where there was just enough space for them and their frantic body heat and nothing else. Not even thoughts about right and wrong, about other people waiting for them outside, about obligations to their duties and the drawing of the promises they made or broke…

Yes. When Hayden finally pressed his body flush against Anders, they both knew their lives were going to change with that simple push.

When Anders felt Hayden starting to move slowly but steadily inside him, he forgot about everything surrounding him and unconsciously reached to drape his arms around the templar’s neck and breathe against it.

When Hayden felt those arms circling him and drawing him closer, it was exquisite. It been everything he wanted. From the very start. For Anders to let go completely. And in the same time, never let go.

_Never let go of me._

_And then Hayden hits his sweet spot and Anders throws his head back in gasp. His fingers dig deeper in Hayden’s neck and it feels like he’s anchoring himself on him. Mouth still open in a surprised ‘O’, and Hayden can’t tear his gaze away from the sight. He looks half surprised too. Brows furrowed in concentration, because it all seems unreal. The intensity of it is almost shocking him. And so he dives deeper, pubic bones flush against Anders’ ass._

_Hayden leans in to kiss the open mouth and bite and suck on his tongue while he fucks his way into the moaning blond mage. With every thrust Anders’ lips lets out a mmh that’s swallowed automatically into Hayden’s mouth, and it’s almost perfect like this._

_Almost, because it’s not enough. He wants more. He wants to see more of this man. He want those fingers on his chest to rip him open and reach inside to find his beating heart among bones and blood and tissues. He wants more but he doesn’t know how to get it. But, oh sweet fucking Maker, it feels unbelievably good. Better than any dream he could have had. Better than any fucking thing he had. He wants to say it but he can’t put two syllables together right now and he’s still lapping at Ander’s mouth. So he starts to fuck harder, every second of pulling his hips back is a second too long._

_…_

_Anders’ eyes are shut tight and he loses the control completely as his mouth seems to work on its own against Hayden’s lips. His body is gushing with pleasure like a fountain, and he doesn’t know what to do about it anymore, so he clings into the hard taunt arms in case it’s all just a dream and he’s just dazed and will fall for some height at any time._

_With his eyes shut, the only thing Anders knows in the moment is how amazing it feels around him. How everything is just perfect the way he likes it. At some point the fucking speeds up and he feels all sluggish and languid and his body feels heavy and weightless in the same time. He tightens the wall of his insides around the hot girth inside, and it drives a loud strangled groan from the man above him._

_And yes, Anders appreciates that sound very much. So he does it every time the hard shaft kisses his prostate. And they fall into a frenzy trance of milking pleasure out of each other._

“ _Oh fuck, Anders_.”  Hayden said. And he rose up his head a little from where it was glued against the blond, and in the same time Anders opened his eyes to look up.

And hued with sinful pleasure ambers fell on heavy lidded greens and world held his breath.

They should have said something as they both attempted at opening their mouths yet nothing but pants and shallow breathes came out.

“You feel good?” Hayden said between pants and slowing trusts.

 _“Yeah. Yeah you’re… good. Good,”_ Anders managed.

“You’re perfect, so you know…” the green-eyed man responded with a soft, heart-breaking, soul-wrecking smile.

And Anders wanted to weep on the spot from the intensity of his bursting heart. “You make me feel… I’m feeling like— _uhn_ —like there’s no one else—” _Inside me,_ he really meant.

“I know, mmh… I feel the same. Like there is nothing else but us.”

They keep going on like that for a while. Just leisurely slow and steady. Long strokes and languid kisses that would put any newlyweds to shame.

So when Anders felt the slow burn of climax, he just whispered into Hayden’s ear to let him know. And Hayden nodded his understatement with a “me too, baby.” The endearment falling so naturally off his tongue Anders almost felt it was the hundredth time he heard it.

They rocked back and forth together simultaneously, Hayden’s hand massaging the blond’s flushed cock steadily, shuddering and panting and clinging and everything in between until Anders’ mouth went lax and his eyes opened wider, as the first rope of cum shot from his engorged cock. But then he witnessed the sight of Hayden’s sweaty face – loose hair falling all over his forehead and temples, and looking no short of utterly captivating - and he couldn’t stand it.

So he squeezed his eyelids shut as he rode his orgasm to brink.

Hayden followed suit seconds after with a low groan, his body letting go of all the tensions as he bucked inside Anders in long shuddering white spurts of cum… “ _Oh Anders—_ ” he moaned tightly, gritting his teeth.

When the first shot of seed hit his inside Anders spasmed out as something jolted up under his skin. Justice rumbled strangely in an aggravated, startled way. And fine, maybe he didn’t want to think about Justice inside him while the other man was filling him up but… oddly enough, he felt Justice quickly calm down in a suspicious appeasing manner…

The other man rode his orgasm inside Anders until it slowly subsided, and finally collapsed beside Anders, leaving the mage’s heaving body flush and spent in post coital release.

“Alright,” the templar huffed, “That was… amazing. You were amazing.” He said, catching his breath, and those words stretched into the silence that enveloped the dark room afterward.

Anders didn’t know how much time had passed since then. Minutes, maybe hours; all he knew was that he never felt so relaxed and conflicted at same time ever. And it was very unnerving as his whole body was coming off the mellow luxurious heights of climax. He knew he meant to close his eyes for a few seconds to catch his breath too, but they apparently hadn’t opened instantly after. So he might have fallen asleep at some point. When he opened them back minutes or hours later, he found himself nose to nose with satisfied greens.

“You fell asleep.” The man provided in a soft whisper.

“Oh, I didn’t know…”

Hayden leaned in to kiss one cheekbone, “How do you feel?”

Anders thought that one over. He positively didn’t have a clue. He felt many things at once. So much another nap was looking like the sweetest excuse to escape the whirlwind of feelings that was pulling at the strings of his insides.

Noticing the long lack of response, Hayden brows furrowed into a concerned line. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

And the presumption startled Anders. “No, no, you didn’t hurt me. No…” he objected softly, erasing the concern off the other man features in the same time.

 “Good. I wouldn’t—forgive myself if I had…” the man murmured to himself with a hint of something imperceptible. And Anders had enough practice and experience on his back to percept what it was.

“It was good. Really good.”

Hayden smiled, “Then it makes two of us.”

“Yes…”

Hayden turned his body fully on his side and wrapped one arm around Anders’ waist, his leg resting loosely atop the mage’s and pulled the blanked over their waist. When he finally settled comfortably, he heard the whisper of his name. “Hayden…”

“Mm?” Hayden looked over with a lazy smile.

“What if I want to do you,” Anders said straight forwardly. And it made Hayden’s smile tug slowly into a slight frown.

“Um. You… You didn’t like it that way…?” he tip toed hesitantly. Because fuck, it felt too good not to be reciprocal.

“No but… what if I want to take _you._ You don’t mind that?”

And Anders felt Hayden’s composure tightening against him. He bit his lip and looked away for a few seconds before returning his green gaze on Anders, and pulled on a small little, almost insecure smile. “No I wouldn’t mind that. In fact, I’m willing to give it a try… if it’s you,” he finished with soft smiling eyes, full of heart-breaking trust.

“You… you mean you never bottomed?” The mage wondered, perplexed. “Was that your first time with a man?!”

“No! No it wasn’t.” He chuckled, reaching to tuck a few blond strands behind Anders’ ear, keeping his fingers there. “But I’ve never been in the other position, that’s all. But if you want, I’d experience it with you.”

“What if I want to do it now?”

“Now? Uh… of… of course, why not,” Hayden said despite the hesitancy dripping from his voice.

Anders’ expression was unreadable as he looked deep into Hayden.“Alright. Lie down.” He ordered with a passive tone. There was nothing soft or loving about it as he pushed Hayden on his back. It was mechanical, with face set. His body straddled the muscled tights with no warning. Hayden let him have his way silently with him, unable to cancel the worried look playing across his face.

Anders also didn’t utter a word when he looked down on him, and it made Hayden swallow tightly.

The templar locked his eyes with Anders’ as he stilled in that position, a gloomy silence falling over the entire room.

Anders was aware of it all. Of what Hayden was thinking. The confusion and the worry of the unknown. And most of all, the palpable dispassion.

He lifted one of the man’s leg, spreading them to settle between them. Hayden let him.

He positioned himself, stroking his cock with one hand, more slowly, then rapidly, and advanced with no word. Hayden kept still, but Anders could sense the muscle of his leg tightening beneath his hand. The rhythm of his breath shallow and heaving in his chest, and Hayden’s anxiety was written all over his face then. But he still kept fucking silent. And Anders sunk his teeth in his lower lip frustratingly.

_Why? Why aren’t you saying anything?_

He nudged the virgin entrance with the tip of his cock, Anders could see as the heavy lump was tightly swallowed down the contrasting throat and those greens disappeared behind heavy eyelids.

Hayden didn’t speak. Only let out one shaky breath.

And Anders felt disgust knotting up his throat.

“Shit. I can’t.” He cursed and pulled himself harshly away to fall beside the other man’s surprised body. Back facing him.

“Anders…”

“No, shut up.” The blond stopped him gravely, face half buried in the pillow. “I wanted to hurt you.”

Hayden did stop, mouth falling shut with a loud snap and stilled behind Anders.

“Just like they did. But I couldn’t. I bloody well couldn’t.” his voice shook.

“What? What do you mean “they”? Anders, talk to me please.”

Anders turned over to face him. He was so close they could share the same breath. Hayden’s fingers brushed the mage’s cheekbone so tenderly, Anders let his eyelids fall shut from the gentle touch. Trying everything he could not to flinch away.

 _Let me tell him, Justice. Let me tell him everything to be done with it. Isn’t that what you want?_ Anders bit inwardly.

“You want to know? You want to know everything? I’ll tell you everything.” And Hayden frowned at the forceful annoyed edge that accompanied Anders’ declaration. Suddenly it didn’t feel right, but Anders was already death set. So Hayden braced himself mentally.

Anders didn’t know how to start. From where to begin. So much to tell. So he closed his eyes for a second and inhaled slowly.

“I’m a Grey Warden.” Hayden’s lips parted on their own. “I was conscripted by the Hero of Ferelden herself. We met in Keep.” He continued quietly as Hayden’s brows shot up to his hairline. It seemed like each word was a new slap to the templar.

“I was being dragged by the templars again. After my last attempt at escaping the circle. But we got ambushed by a wave of Darkspawns and well, your fellows weren’t so lucky.” He flicked his gaze up at Hayden and found the brown haired man listening attentively.

“The Warden Commander conscripted to help me off the clutch of the templars that came after me that night. I knew that time I wouldn’t be shown anymore mercy. Nor from the templars or even the first enchanter. I never felt as saved as I did that fateful night.”

“So… you’re a Grey Warden.” Hayden concluded. “But—what—what are you doing here then? In Kirkwall? I thought… the Grey Wardens weren’t allowed to leave their order?”

“They are not. I fled. I’m what they call now a deserter.” Anders said grimly, contemplating the ceiling. “I bet you want to know why?” Anders said, and Hayden caught an unsettling sight on Anders’ profile. He was smirking hollowly at the thin air, absorbed in whatever memory he was recalling…

“When we went to that place called the BlackMarch, we met a spirit of the fade. After helping us, he became trapped in our world and embodied the dead body of the man we were looking for in the first place. He became our friend. Me, Amell, Nate, Sigrun…” He stated his friend’s names wistfully, a sad smile looming the curves of his lips like the first shy rays of dawn.

Hayden didn’t miss a beat, and bored his most steady earned green gaze in encouragement to urge whatever Anders wanted to continue with.

But the next part of Anders’ story seemed to be difficult to draw out. Hayden watched the opening and closing of lips as Anders fought with words. He looked stuck, unable to alienate the next sentence.

“Anders…” Hayden tried smoothly. If Anders wasn’t able to do it, he wouldn’t impel him on. He already said so much. Surely the rest could wait another time. Now he would be happy to just let his mind absorb the information of the object of his desire being a bloody _Grey Warden_ and hold him tightly while doing so.

A Grey Warden… well… it wasn’t so bad…

“No.” The mage shook his head, much to Hayden’s confusion. “You should know. ‘Cause you think everything is flowers and marigolds, and we need to stop fooling ourselves at some point.” Hayden furrowed his brows in sheer confusion at Anders’ scowl.

“There was a templar.” The voice took a different new tone. It reminded Hayden of the beginning of the scary tales that were being told to them as kids when a grown up wanted them off a property. And though Anders’ face was quiet and even, something was creepily _off_.

“His name was Rolan. He was transferred to the tower at some point.” Hayden was right. Something was terribly off, because Anders slightly shivered.

“I know I was a cocky brat. And I was quite popular with the number of escapes from the tower I had under my belt. I… liked to tease them. Make fun of them. It was the only outlet to my restless hating of that place. So sometimes, I liked to frustrate them. I teased and flirted with them. And Rolan had looked like a freshly suited target at the time. And I enjoyed it.” He admitted begrudgingly with forlornness in his eyes.

“… The way his blue eyes followed me every time I by passed him, the way he smiled from afar when I attracted his gaze from-between the bookshelves of the library… I… I let him come closer, touch me. I let him kiss me… embrace me…” Anders closed his eyes on those memories - of arms roaming sensually around him, needy pants against his ear, that hollow laugh that resonated in the dark of that sixth floor in that hallway. He couldn’t even make out to who it had belonged anymore. Possibly to him.

“I played with him thinking I’ll be able to toss him aside like always…” Anders let out a low sarcastic chuckle that cringed Hayden’s skin.

“I guess I was in for a surprise. Like the surprise of finding out he was made Grey Warden too.” Anders spit. “Or the surprise when the Warden Commander left us in the hands a bastard who took it upon himself to conscript more templars and entrust them to mages like watching dogs up our throats. Or the surprise when Rolan followed me that night in the woods and raped me.”

This time Hayden’s head snapped up from the pillow in sheer shock. The words were spoken so flatly he didn’t envision such drastic turn of events.

Words. He needed words Maker damn it, “Anders…”

“And when he ambuscaded me and pushed my back on the grass, he told me how much I was looking for it. How much I actually wanted it. That I had no right to tempt him for so long and then push him away. That I was just a mage slut in the end and it was what I deserved, and he kept pushing… And he was right. I did seduce him.” Anders said between gritting teeth as he screwed his eyes in regret.

“No, no-no-no, you said no, Anders, oh baby, don’t you dare blame yourself.” Hayden yanked the blond man in his arms, kissing his hairline passionately. “He forced himself on you. He didn’t have the right. Maker’s fucking… bastard, I hope he’s six feet underground for what he did to you.”

“I killed him.”

Hayden dislocated enough to look into Anders’ icy eyes and “Good. Because I would’ve chased down the son of a bitch across Thedas if not.” Anders contemplated him for a moment. Was that an idle talk? Or did he really mean it? Something in that dangerous glint behind those fierce unblinking greens sent equally dangerous shivers down his spine. 

Without tearing his stare away, he said, “That’s why I wanted to hurt you. Just like he hurt me, too.” Hayden only stared with a pained expression.

“The next night, Justice came to me. And we talked again. He talked to me about the injustice he witnessed every day in our world. He couldn’t believe it. After all, he embodies the very virtue of everything that’s just and right. And I… I’d had enough too. Enough of running, of hiding, of being a victim in the eyes of the others. I wanted to fight back. Because I couldn’t fight back when they tore me from my family forever. I couldn’t fight back when they had their ways with us in the circle. I couldn’t fight him back that night.”

_‘You’re so good when you’re helpless Anders… you were made for this.’_

“The body he was inhabiting started to rot and he feared of what would happen to him afterwards.” Anders paused. The templar looked expectantly, eyes wide and genuine. He would never guess what happened next.

“We came to an agreement and I gave him my body as a host and we merged together.” It was so surprising how Justice was silent like a rock the whole time. It felt almost serene inside his being. Anders thought it was probably the fact that Anders was relating a part of their life, where everything was still full of friends and salacious jokes and intrepid adventures… before everything shattered into pieces the way a rock was thrown at a window. Was Justice even capable of nostalgia? Anders wondered. Maker knew _he_ was. Even if he knew he didn’t regret anything. It was for the good cause. It had to be done.

Or had it not..?

“You… what?”

Anders sighed. “I took the spirit inside. Justice. He’s inside me, now.”

The silence that followed was not something Anders expected after dropping the truth like an anchor into the sea. He was expecting something more of a shocked and furious look. Disgust too. And maybe fear. Like the look of his fellow templars that night he cold-bloodily killed them all.  No, ripped them all into shreds.

But no. Again, the man managed to be truly and awfully unpredictable. So Anders kept still. Until Hayden propped himself on an elbow, regarding him newly like for the first time. “You… you mean, you’re… possessed? Right now?”

“By the spirit of Justice, yes.” Anders stated rather calmly. If the man was willing to stay beside him, and didn’t look like about to break into a run, he would indulge him in more explanations.

“Huh…” Hayden was at loss of words and Anders darted a sideway look. Still shocked, yes. But with no trace of fear.

“Spirits are not demons, Hayden. Surely you know the difference. Though I doubt they teach you that difference in the ‘how to become a good obedient little templar’ chantry’s book. But I don’t blame you, it’s a rare case. Spirits never seek the humans to possess them like demons yearn to do. They are at peace in their realm in the fade. They do not wish to live among us, they embody the purest virtues. But Justice didn’t have a choice. He’s been trapped. And he hated it. Still does by the way; more with each witness of the kind of treatment subjugated upon us.”

“I see.” Hayden swallowed, with a tiny relaxed frown. “I do know spirits were the Maker’s first children, right?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re right though, I never been… inclined on the subject. I never met such… a case. So… it’s…kind of… innocent right? I mean a spirit of Justice… what does it even do?”

Innocent. Anders’ mouth twisted into a thin lipped line. He wanted to laugh out loud at the regretful and woesome irony. Justice was everything but innocent. “Sadly…”

“What?”

Anders sighed “Justice is angry. He’s angry for a long time now. You want to know why? Because of the injustice inflicted on the mages kind. Because of the way your order treats us like dangerous weapons and ticking bombs, who only wait for the day we’ll finally succumb to a demon’s call. _Because no-one deserves to be locked up for his whole life for a Maker’s given gift._ ” Anders latched intensely, hued honey orbs sparkling fierily. And it all took Hayden’s next breath away.

Anders propped up on his elbows, no longer interested in lying down or napping or hiding. Something inside him fueled. He suspected it was Justice too, or more likely the rage they shared deep inside, becoming one fiery ball.“You want to know another reason why he’s angry?” and Anders’ tone dropped all of a sudden into a quiet intimate murmur. Something that shook Hayden’s insides to the core. And for the first time he wondered if he truly wanted to know anymore…

“Because when Justice was inside Kristoff’s dead body, he was able to see into his memories, even found his wife and apologized. And so he was able to do the same when we merged together. He saw inside my memories. And that night when Rolan followed me was just one of them.”

Anders turned away then and curled on himself, arms thrown protectively around him. “I still wonder why I told you all of that. I guess, I somehow owe it to you… or maybe you deserve it… after everything that happened.” Anders briefly recalled those nights Hayden spent with him distracting him from the nightmares and the sudden depression that fell upon him.

Suddenly he felt something brush the middle of his bare shoulder blades.

Hayden dropped a kiss there. And then, to Anders’ sheer surprise, another.

“Alright.”

 _Alright?_ “Alright?”

“Now I understand everything. Everything, I got it now. Thank you. For telling me.”

Disbelieving, Anders turned slowly to face him, curiosity twinkling in the corner of his eyes. “Thank you?” he needed to make sure he heard it right.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting… all of this – out from you. I never thought you’d open up to me so abruptly, and tonight… All of this… it’s probably too much to wrap a head around it at the moment, but it’ll settle down eventually. So yes, thank you for trusting me, Anders. It means a lot.”

“So… you’re not bothered by the fact that I’m…”

 “Possessed? Well…” Hayden couldn’t hide the uneasiness after all. It bothered him. Anders saw it clearly. Justice saw it too with more wary, offensive eyes. But not bothered enough to be scared or call on an abomination. “… It surprised me. But, it’s not a demon. And… spirits are the first children of the Maker, and honestly Anders, all my head does know for sure is that it wants to lean forward and kiss you, so I guess it doesn’t make that much of a difference to me… I know you’re a good man.” And Hayden leaned to catch the pouty lips of the blond mage in his.

“A selfless man,” a kiss “You help people,” a suck “You heal the poor,” a nip, and Anders sighed into the liquid fire sensations crippling down his flesh, “I knew you were special. The day I saw you.” The bigger man whispered hotly, his body drawing closer to hold the mage. Anders lost his focus.

“So… you’re— _ah_ , you’re fine with how things are? With who I am?”

“A Grey Warden, with a spirit of Justice inside you… I can handle that.” Hayden toppled Anders on the bed then and his warm fingers slid leisurely over slim bony hips.

“And I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I swear to the Maker, I won’t.” he claimed hotly though his credibility was put on a strain what’s with vowing with a hardening cock and a wicked suck on a nipple.

_Well, I suppose it didn’t go according to plan, Justice…_

At that moment, Anders eyes flashed raging electric blue. It lasted a few uncontrollable seconds – where Anders’ fingers plunged into Hayden’s tousled hair roughly. But Hayden didn’t saw it. His head was sinking lower, trailing a kissing path over the mage’s flat stomach and navel. He winced at the harshness of the tugging, but he never raised his head.

Anders’ eyes returned back to normal just in time when Hayden gazed back at him through hooded eyes.

 

***

 

Passion. It’s a fire so ardent it inhabits us long after we think it’s been extinguished...

_“I love your eyes. They remind me of honey…”_

_“Now you’re just hungry…” and Anders actually - finally, broke into a soft chuckle._

It’s a drive so alluring, it might pushes us in the arms of unexpected lovers.

_“I want you…”_

It’s a sensation so overwhelming, it knocks down the walls we’ve built over our hearts.

_“Tell me you want me too.”_

A feeling so intense, it resurfaces, even though we tried so hard to keep it buried.

Yes, of all emotions, passion is the one that gives us a reason to live.

And also an excuse to commit all sorts of reckless acts…

_“I do...”_

 


	13. The liars (Part 1)

The next morning, the day started with a big lie.

The Knight-Lieutenant Hayden had to explain as to why he wasn’t on duty the rest of the whole yesterday afternoon to a very much disgruntled Knight-Captain…

“May we know where have you been the rest of the yesterday afternoon, Knight-Lieutenant? Why weren’t you in the Gallows on duty like you should’ve? No one was able to put a finger as to where you disappeared off.” The Knight-Captain Cullen reprimanded with a clipped tone.

“I had a personal matter that couldn’t wait. I apologize, I left without warning. But it was very important, sorry.” Hayden lied fluently through his steady posture and white teeth before his captain.

“Well we had a very important matter that requested your presence here too. Meredith was very displeased when she knew you left your post at yesterday’s meeting regarding those Strakhaven’s apostates Ser Karras went after.” Cullen scowled.

“I know.” Hayden sighed, “I very much intend to apologize personally. But would you mind debriefing me first on the subject before meeting her wrathfulness.” The green eyed templar humored with a sly smile. And he was pleased to note that it worked miracles on his fellow templar’s easing frown.

Cullen turned to face the window of his small office and gazed at the numerous papers scattered on his desk. “Karras wasn’t able to bring those apostates back.” He massaged the tired lines of his forehead, “and when he returned to the cave they were hiding in, he only found one death body. Which mean, the apostates fled.” He turned to face Hayden with a final, “And Karras want to hunt them down.”

Hayden stiffened. Thought under all of that templar gear, it went mostly unnoticed. “I see. But those apostates must be far away already, they might have crossed the sea. Maybe we should be focusing back on Kirkwall territories instead of going on a bloodthirsty hunt.” Hayden suggested warily and Cullen regarded him with a direct skeptical look for a minute before sighing again.

“You may have a point. Karras was restless though. And you,” he pointed back at Hayden all of a sudden, stepping closer. Hayden eyes narrowed. “Should have been there yesterday to gratify us all with those wise insights of yours.”

“I know, I’m sorry Cullen, alright. I really had to go.” And remembering the turning his little escapade took, he tried strongly to stiffen the satisfactory grin that threatened to break loose. “ _Really_.” He added pointedly. It was all he could imply.

Cullen huffed. “What kind of personal matter did you have anyway? If I remember correctly, you don’t have any family in Kirkwall.” Cullen pondered with a tone that meant more curiosity than actual business.

“I wouldn’t say  _personal_  if I was about to share it off with people Cullen.” He replied with a self confident smile.

Cullen did that dubious stare he perfected over the years. After what he’d gone through, he learned to never trust the appearances. And everything could go from normal to suspicious in a breath now.

“Well good luck explaining that the Knight-Commander. She’s in her office, and she’s not in a good mood.”

Hayden smirked friendly, “You mean she’s not sauntering around, smiling sweetly and sharing jokes with her fellow templars? That’s surely unusual.”

Yes. The knight-Captain Cullen was becoming a skeptical man. But he was still capable of smiling conspicuously at inappropriate sarcasm on his superior from time to time.

 

***

 

Somewhere not so dusted off and cleanly tidied, another person was about to lie. Only this one…

Wasn’t prepared for it.

“Hello.”

Anders turned, “Oh, Hawke? Hello. What brings you here?”

 Hawke halted. Glaring flatly at Anders - who put down the flask in his hand and wiped his palms in his clothes noting that something was off.

Hawke quickly broke the awkward tension. “You didn’t come.”

“Excuse me?”

“At the Hanged Man, yesterday. You said you’ll come join us.”

“I—I said that?” Anders surprisingly wondered back.

“Yes.”

Hawke resumed his slow steps inside the clinic, never tearing his gaze from the mage. “I waited for you but you didn’t show up, I worried.”

Hawke closed the space until he was three feet away from the other man, “And I came to see if everything was alright.” Hawke marked a pause. “But you weren’t here either.”

Anders’ mind raced silently. “Oh, um, I was… I had a house call.”

Hawke nodded unconvinced, “because I also waited for you.” And Anders gaped.

“You waited? Why?”

“It was the middle of the night, I didn’t know where you could have been if not here.” Hawke shrugged.

“Uh, you know I do some house calls too, it just took me a little while—”

“‘Cause I waited for a long while, and it was two bells after midnight,” Hawke interrupted.

“I had to meet with some mage friends after. You—you shouldn’t have waited for me.”

“Sorry if I happened to be worried about you. You said you would come and I believed you.”

“Wait, no, I didn’t say that!?” Impossible, he knew he would wait for Hayden yesterday. “I remember I said I would try.” Anders spurted out as the bits of that last conversation came back to him.

“That’s what you usually say and you always come afterward.”

“I’ve been busy Hawke. I cannot just join you for fun when I have other things to do.”

Hawke paused the words on the tip of his lips and his steely face twisted into a vexed and very much offended look. His lips stayed parted, Anders watching stiffly how Hawke took the words like a dirty stab.

“I didn’t know I was such a burden on your schedule.”

Maker damn him and his mabari-kicked face. Anders was really having a hard time keeping up with the warrior's mood swings. One moment he was aligning reproaches and accusations based on thin air and the next he looked like a guiltless man on the eve of the execution.

“Listen Hawke, you have to understand, I’m not like Fenris and Isabela or Merrill, sitting around and waiting for nightfall to join the daily game of cards and gossips' round. I have my manifesto, I run a practically full day and night free clinic. I… I try to help the mages in Kirkwall however I can. So you can’t just barrel in here and blame me for not joining you little gang whom half of them barely appreciate my presence by the way.”

Something in the tirade made Hawke’s expression soften, and Anders was finally glad he wasn’t the target of the warrior’s unforgiving scowl as it appeared to be the case for the last couple of times they saw each others. It seemed so long since that tension between them has started and with time, it cascaded quickly into exasperation as both men were unwilling to talk about the odds that had fallen upon them. Unwilling or unable to anymore.

That was what happened when a stubborn man meet an even more mulish match. It quickly cascaded into a fit of pique and Anders was becoming weary of it. Especially after being directed that swelling look Hawke had shared with him in the past. The heartfelt façade that was lying underneath the barbarian mask. If only he hadn’t shared that part of him with Anders, the latter wouldn’t feel so regretful.

“I know. That’s why I respect you the most.” And Anders' eyes did that widening-narrowing thing when he was incredulously surprised.

“I’m sorry if I came out rude; I didn’t come here to upset you, I just… I don’t know, I feel like something’s off between us and I can’t understand what. ‘Cause despite all of your priorities, you always had a free time to spare for us. Now, it’s the second time I come find you in the middle of the night and you’re not there.”

Anders faltered and bit his lower lip. He didn’t really have something to rebut for his defense.

“I thought maybe you had some secret lover or something.” Hawke half shrugged dismissively.

Anders’ heart leaped a beat. “What?!” He was quick to hide how close Hawke hit home because he was no stranger to Hawke’s talents at reading into situations. Wait. Was he right? Was it what it was now?

He managed a nervous laugh, “Wh—what kind of nonsense is that!” but his voice still wavered a bit.  

Hawke maintained his cool gray stare, looking up Anders’ expectantly for a reaction to his already mildly fond suspicions. When Hawke didn’t add anything, Anders used the time to collect himself. “No, Hawke, there is no such a thing,” he said, adding more firmness to his slightly shaking voice.

Hawke did a snorting sound in the back of his throat, slowly nodded and smiled uncharacteristically.

It was clear as daylight. For unknown reasons, he didn’t buy it.

Anders wanted, needed to add something else. But the guilt and the begrudging truth held his tongue. Did he really want to add another layer of lies just to erase that idea from Hawke?

He couldn’t place that sudden pang of guiltiness that wormed up inside him. But he held his tongue in hesitation just enough for Hawke to say “All right. I just wanted to check on you and see if you were fine. I’ll leave you to your priorities.” And oh but that held such a humorless hint of spitefulness it left Anders baffled on the spot. 

Justice didn’t pick up on what it implied since the spirit never worked his ways around innuendos and indirect talks. That was why he merely stirred; glad Hawke was leaving Anders to concentrate on the task at hand. But it was Anders who stirred this time. Clenching his fists for some intelligible reason.

This was not over, his thought. Hawke will  _not_  have the last word in this.

 

***

 

The rest of the morning flew by peacefully after that. The clinic was unusually empty and he only had the visit of two patients who didn’t even require his healing prowesses. So far, Hawke had been the only one who required the most of his mental energy that morning. And knowing the man, he was not expecting another visit for probably the rest of the day. If not the week. Or month, Anders thought bitterly. And how dare he blame him like that anyway? He was the one who started all of that tension between them. And thus, he had no right to judge his whereabouts. He could have easily rounded that accusation over on him if it really annoyed him so much. After all, he wasn’t the one who disappeared from view for weeks, to be found spending quite precious time with  _Fenris_  out of all people. He had took it upon himself to make the first move and go find him that night; despite Justice’s disapproving grumblings and his personal insecurities. If someone was to blame for what happened to their friendship, it was unmistakably

“… Hawke,” Anders muttered in thought. He dropped the quill in the inkpot. He just finished another page of writing and stopped to go through what he wrote so far.

Hm, it would soon be enough to bring the first part to the grand cleric.

He needed it to be perfect and flawless for Elthina because if someone was able to weight favorably on the balance, it was her. She held the power in Kirkwall. Though implicitly, Anders knew she was a much needed pawn to make a change and take a stand in the course of events that shall follow. If she could agree… if he was able to make her see reason and open her eyes to what was going on behind the prudish walls of the chantry… Maker… it would be prodigious. Anders' heart leaped with excitement and he felt Justice swell with tremor at the mere thought.

“Hey.”

Anders jerked his head up and around at the sudden foreign voice invading his personal space. Justice flared for a second too, disliking to be taken by surprise.

“Hayden! Maker’s breath how did—don’t creep up on me like that. I’m a mage remember? I could have sent you flying.” Anders scowled.

The bright spirited templar’s grin only grew wider. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, the door was open and you weren’t around, I thought you’d be in here.”

It was probably Hayden’s joyful mood that rubbed off on his frown but his scowl eased down subconsciously. The man was just like he last saw him earlier in the morning. Only clad in a new set of clean clothes and presumably bathed; hair slicked back and slightly glistering with some kind of pomade that held it all neatly behind his ears.

And also wearing a dimpled smile that was two inch away from splitting his face in two.

He was atrociously handsome.

The man stepped inside the narrow space. “How was your day?” he demanded, arms coming to rest around Anders’ shoulders, unbidden and relaxed.

Justice clawed at the walls of his mind.

“Fine.” Anders found himself responding quietly. After all, what happened last night was still fresh if not raw in the front of his mind.

They had sex. Twice. Anders blushed. And not only that, but Anders bared his heart to him too. He was still disbelieving how on the Maker’s forsaken green earth such a thing could have possibly happened.

It was so intense and so overwhelmingly confusing that Anders couldn’t yet comprehend it fully. He said it all _. All_. Everything. His past and deepest secrets to a man he barely knew and who was never supposed to get close in the first place let alone sleep with.

But when did things ever made sense? They made sense about as much as how the templar was standing there, arms wrapped around him.

“Hey,” he heard him echoes. “Hope I was not interrupting – I missed you,” he said, eyes falling on the quill and the traces of fresh ink around the sheets of papers scattered all around the flimsy desk. Anders stayed silent and immobile. But he let his body incline on his own volition toward the spring warm embrace that smelled of chestnut and cinnamon and something equally the Knight-Lieutenant.

“I came because I wanted to talk to you,” Hayden started, still keeping Anders in his arms. “About what you told me, those mages.” Anders jerked up to face the man, vivid ambers meeting relaxed greens.

“What about?”

“They won’t chase them. At least not for the short time being.” Anders eyes grew wide with a spark of mirth and impressiveness twinkling explicitly there. “You talked to the Knight-Commander? And she agreed? How—”

“I can be very persuasive, you ought to know already.” He grinned. “Though it wasn’t that easy with that rock-head of Karras. At least the Knight-Commander will drop the matter for now until we see what happens. It’s what you wanted right?”

“Yes.”

Hayden stayed silent after that and detached himself slowly from the mage. “All right. Well I’ll leave you for now, and I see you’re quite busy yourself so I won’t disturb you.” He turned but suddenly rounded back on Anders. “Oh and… I would like to come later… I want to take you somewhere if you don’t mind.”

Anders raised an eyebrow in inquiry, “Where?”

“Um, well,” the standing man scratched with a fingertip a spot on one stubbled cheek, “I would like to take you to my place. I mean my real place. It just didn't feel right for me to bring you to that unsightly hovel in Lowtown to begin with, so please, accept.”

Anders was positively not expecting that one to come. His real place? In Hightown? Was it really happening? “I don’t know…”

“Please now, Anders, it… it will means a lot to me. Please?” Hayden locked his big shining and hopeful emerald eyes with Anders’ and the latter was unable to tear his stare away.

Away from those eyes that were so patient with him when he revealed his past. That were so compassionate trough out the whole most distatful things he spilled out. Those earnest eyes, that never judged.

So far, never once.

Was he really so acceptant? Was it truly possible to accept someone like him so quickly and blandly? It has been already a surprising if not a miracle with Hawke, and the man had witnessed Justice burst out in all his angry glory. And then, what did he get? 

Compassionate gray eyes that called him ‘ _you have been fortunate’._

Still, Justice was right, Hawke had a mage sister therefore it made sense somewhere.

Oh and he told him once that his father was a mage too. A Circle mage who’d escaped what’s more. It had brought a smile to his lips he remembered. So alike, he had quipped. And Hawke smiled companionably. That night, Anders quickly recalled, was the night he told Hawke about all his escapes attempts. Hawke had scrunched his brows at some he couldn’t find the logic in and laughed at those that were too funny to be kept a secret. They shared stories of the apostaty life they had and still have and Anders never felt so overwhelmed with attraction and entente.

Hawke had repeated after the laughs died,

_‘So alike indeed.’_

Yes, it made some sense. But that? Him? It didn’t made any damnable sense with  _him._  It all felt like some distant utopia. Where templars and mages cohabited in harmony and where someone like a Knight-Lieutenant templar would walk hand in hand with a possessed mage in the streets.

While nugs flied happily in the sunset sky.

“Anders, I can almost taste how deep you drifted off.”

The soft calling of his name pulled Anders out his wandering reverie and his gaze focused back where it was left on the man’s eyes.

Hayden smiled.

“Fine.” Was all Anders heard himself say again. His tongue was getting out of control. Or was it his brain?

The templar exhaled happily, “Thank you. I’ll see you later then.” And he turned to leave the mage with kiss quickly deposited on Anders’ lips.

Anders looked back at his desk dazed by the rush of events. Then something caught his sudden attention. “Wait!”

Anders scrambled to his feet, pages of manifesto in hand, catching up with Hayden. The man turned on his heels to find Anders standing out in front of him. “You need something else?” And it was spoken with such softness, Anders almost blushed.

“I… I want you to read this.” And he stretched abruptly the hand carrying the folded sheets of papers.

“Uh?” Hayden glanced at the hand, “Is that what you were writing?” the mage nodded.

“Yes, I want you to read it. It’s something very important to me.”

Now Hayden looked more wary than anything else. “Important? What is it?” he inquired at the papers neatly folded in the hand.

Anders couldn’t just explain it like that. Too much to say and he might end up getting angry and start a fiery argument while all the thoughts and convicting words he needed were perfectly put together in papers. When not all of them since he didn’t give the man everything he wrote so far, only the beginning and enough to make a point. The point was also to see the reaction of this man who barreled nose first into his life like a whirlwind that scattered all your well-arranged thoughts and convictions and everything that ruled your life to leave you disoriented and lost.

“Just read it later all right? It’s important for me to know what you think about it.” And as he lacked persuasive words at the present, he squeezed his most pleading look. Which turned into a unconscious pout, which worked its spell just fine.

Hayden sighed and shook his head with a pointy little smirk. “Fine. I still hope it’s what I wish it would be.”

Anders’ eyes widened in startle and frowned. “It’s—it’s something serious so would you read it seriously? Or else there is no point.”

Hayden charmingly pouted, “You’re no fun. Fine.”

“Oh and… don’t show it to anyone else. In the gallows if…”

Hayden composure straightened, “I’ll drop it back home. I won’t take it there with me,” he answered seriously.

“Very well.”

“See you in the evening then? Around the eighth bell? ”

“Mm,” Anders confirmed quietly.

 

***

 

It was right after dusk that Hayden showed up, templar gear gone for clothes that were a tad unsuitable to wander in the streets of Darktown and probably Lowtown too. That is if you didn’t want to attract the greedy eyes of thugs and gangs that teemed the walls of Kirkwall’s downtown streets.

But as soon as they stepped the gates of Hightown, it became a different story. And it was the mage’s turn to look not a tad but squarely out of place. There wasn’t one level of commodity in Anders’ clothing. They were just miserable to look at. Especially the boots. Always making the nobles’ heads turn in horrification or pitiable judgment. Anders just avoided making eye-contact with any too long.

They crossed the market, the last few merchants closing their stalls and packing their merchandises in chests and bags. Nothing to be left to the night streets of Hightown that were reputed to be even more dangerous than a midnight stroll by the docks. They entered a nice kept building framed in a small alley and Hayden made his way to a large stairway in the middle of the ground floor. Anders kept silent and followed close by, heart drumming in his ribcage, Justice strangely silent. Anders thought about the silent that followed the feral lion emerging brusquely from his hide to ripe everything on his passage.

Suddenly his mind took conscience of the click of a key in a lock and yes. So that was the door.

Hayden gestured gentlemanly with his hands at the inside saying, “Guests first,” with a wide, satisfied grin.

Anders glanced at him, then at the inside. From the threshold he couldn’t discern much, only a hallway that spilt in two and what looked like a living room. But one thing that was evident. It was very opulent.

Anders took a first step. The white cream paper wall was warm and inviting. Another step. The floor beneath him was dark wooded and clean. Hayden closed the door. Anders turned on pure reflex. The reflex of never having your back to a templar.

“You like it?”

“Never had the pleasure to be in a Hightown’s house.”

“Well, the pleasure is all mine. Trust me.” The last part accompanied a very lewd smirk that could have tore skin from bones.

Maker’s breath.

 

***

 

Hayden’s place was warm. Warm and quiet, like a painting of a landscape on a summer day. As they made it deeper inside the house, they were quickly welcomed with a round table set for two and dishes looking all kind of colorful with food.

“I still can’t believe this,” Anders breathed, closing the distance between him and the table, running the tip of his fingers over the smooth edges of a chair. “You cooked dinner for me?”

“Well, you’re the only one I brought here with me so obviously,” Hayden bemused. “Although let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I got  _slightly_ helped and I borrowed a recipe to make sure it taste good. I never had to cook for someone else like this before.” He cracked a tentative yet radiant smile.

Anders rubbed his forehead. “I can’t help but think this is going a too fast.”

“Why?” Hayden’s eyebrows drew inwardly.

“Because we slept together, and now we’re having dinner in your house and after everything I told you—”  _I spilled my darkest secrets to you. I gave a reason to fear me. Why are you doing all of this for me?_ “And yet here you are, cooking me dinner… so yes, you got me at loss.” Anders' eyes flitted a second time between the man and the plates with a doubtful expression. “Unless you intend to poison me.”

Hayden’s features turned into an interesting grimace and Anders wasn’t sure if the man was about to burst into laughing or snipe out indignantly. In the end it was neither the one nor the other. He just arched a perfect brown eyebrow and, “If you want, we can share the same plate.” A pause, then added more lowly, “we can even share the same spoon,” he quipped with a sly smirk.

Anders’ head jerked back startled, eyes frowning at the glib response. Alright, perhaps not poisoned then. And the mood was set again as no one added anything else about food poisoning and potential murder. Full, porcelain dishes winking and tantalizing, and smooth, dark wooden chairs and large windows casting shreds of moonlight over them.

No matter what he could think, everything around him was beautiful. The room, the man, the moment. It felt unnerving and strangely overwhelming to be surrounded by so much perfectness. Could he really let himself indulge again? For one other night?

Again?

“Here,” the other man voiced, breaking through the silence delicately like a knife on hot butter. He slid closer to the blond mage and brought his hands over the buckles of his coat, easing them off one by one slowly. “It’s already warm in here.” Hayden voice drawled low and sensual, never taking his eyes from his busy hands, swift fingers going down Anders’ coat as if it was a routinely thing by now.

The coat was brushed off from Anders’ shoulders and led down on an armchair nearby, and Anders’ eyes couldn’t help but shift downward. What a nice polished floor. It must be nice to saunter around bare feet in here. Perhaps if he squinted closely he would find a dirty spot somewhere and focus less on the warmness rippling inside his stomach.

But Hayden touched his chin and lifted his face and Anders forgot all about dirty spots.

Those greens stayed silent. Smiling and glimmering and warm like leaves under the sunlight.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said as if reading inside the darkest corner of Anders’ mind.

Anders fidgeted with one long sleeve. He blushed, this time he was certain. He should probably say something but he needed to swallow first or he might stutter embarrassingly and make a fool out of himself. Only his stomach beat him to it this time, treacherously growling between them and the silence.

Hayden’s face cracked into an easy smirk. “Did your stomach just agreed with me?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. And his blush grew a darker shade of red. “I just… haven’t had time to eat today.” And also haven’t had the coin, but he decided to brush off that fact as he didn’t wish to add a layer on his charity case looks.

Hayden on the other hand didn’t look pleased by that information. And that discerning, judgmental-living style frown was back again. Resentful and oddly unsettling. “Well good thing because I’m shit at portions so I cooked for like a family reunion.” He smiled.

And well, it made Anders smile too. Slow and tentative, but nonetheless there, and it was exactly the same smile that kept Hayden awake some nights because it was the only happy facial expression he was granted so far.

But it was all right.

They sat across from each other, Hayden raising the lid of a tureen, steam escaping from what looked like a thick cream cheese soup with ham, mushrooms and potatoes; the smell of its spices entrancing his senses altogether. He tried to keep calm and start with the colorful salad with its cherry tomatoes and diced white cheese and the roasted vegetables that surrounded him joyfully like an offering to the gods.

He wasn’t with the wardens, he repeated inside his head like a mantra. And the man facing him wasn’t Ogrehn.

So modestly, he picked the slice of bread to his right. We’ll eventually get to know each other, he mentally communicated to the tantalizing soup.    

 

***

 

About the third refill, Anders was slowly able to claim that he was fully sated. At the third bowl of soup, he felt the need to clarify certain things like the peculiar Grey Warden’s appetite so it might lessen him from the rank of starving beggar he was exulting at some point.

“Well, with or without Grey Warden’s stamina, I don’t care if you gobble down the whole table. You need a good case of filling up.”

“What if I get fat?”

“That’s the last of my concern honestly. Though I became pretty fond of your pretty flat stomach so please don’t, otherwise you’re perfect,” Hayden replied with a bemused, good natured smile.

Anders almost lost the equilibrium of his spoon mid way to his lips at the non-ceremonial declaration. “I’m not.” He blushed hotly.  _Maker, warn a man before spurting such… things_.

Then Hayden did that thing; his eyes shifted downward and regarded his plate pensively for a while. As Anders thought he was about to just resume eating, he lifted his spoon back again when he heard a soft murmur voiced out from the other side of the table.

“Yes you are.” 

 

***

 

“Wait a second here, you mean you saw the seneschal bran’s cock?!” And Hayden blurted into laughter. Anders sipped slowly on the wine he accepted only out of courtesy.

“Yes, I saw it,” he said with a tired smirk as the memory tugged the corner of his mouth faintly.

“Shit, I can’t believe it! This is hilarious! I wonder what kind of facial expression the viscount’s would pull if he knew his tight butted personal advisor and highly regarded assistant had to treat a sexually transmittable disease! You haven’t told anyone? This is ought to make the headlines in Kirkwall!”

“And who do you want me tell exactly? The noble women I use to tea with on the Sunday afternoons?” Anders mildly admonished.

Hayden shot him a sympathetic look and hummed at his glass.  “Well… At least these ones that come to you have no excuse for not paying you for your trouble.” And as soon, snapped his head up, “They do right?”

“Yes, but it’s more a form of discretion agreement than gratitude. They palm me the coin before I even know what it is about,” Anders stated dismissively.

“Ha. Bunch of narrow arsed hypocrites. Well, I still don’t like it.”  And Anders hummed amusingly as he nursed on his glass. He was quite taken aback by the templar's personal opinion on the Hightown’s nobility. Honest to the Maker, the man was a real mystery.

“Like what?”

“That you’re seeing people’s cocks,” Hayden said with a confident expression.

Anders scoffed. “You think I enjoy it myself?” He sighed.

Hayden shifted his whole body so to face the mage wholly. “Still, I don’t like it,” he repeated decisively.

Anders paused for a moment and eyed him doubtfully.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m jealous.” And Anders’ brows did a quick shot to his hairline comically so. “Beg you pardon? You’re jealous?”

The other man straightened his back and stretched an arm casually around the back of the couch they reclined to after dinner. “Well yes.”

Anders didn’t know if he should laugh or worry. “Jealous of what? The irritation on Bran’s cock or the noblewoman who got warts near her lower parts?”

Hayden sucked on a breath, greens constricted. “Maker, Anders!”

“Well you deserved it. So stop saying silly things.”

“Why? Is it silly if I’m being jealous?” the man drawled with a drop of tone, slightly sidling closer.

“Yes,” Anders rumbled to his glass frowning and very aware of the distance that was being closed all of a sudden. He should have drowned that wine at once and ask for a refill.

“Well, unfortunately it’s too late for that.”

Definitely need a refill. Or three.

He gazed down at his half empty glass but it just gazed back boringly. As if it knew there was no escaping that discussion no matter how much expensive wine he’d drown at that moment.

And as if sensing Anders’ palpable discomfort, Hayden slid even closer and took the thin long glass from nimble fingers. He deposed it on the low table before them along with his empty one. “Hey,” he drawled. Anders’ eyes fluttered up.

“Tell me something in ander.”

“huh?”

“You’re from the Anderfels right?”

“huh… yes. How astute of you to have guessed that on your own.”

“Wasn’t it done on purpose so people guess it on their own?” Hayden mused back.

Anders squinted his eyes as his brow drew slightly in an indignant line. “I didn’t call myself like that. That’s how they started to call me. Literally, back in the circle.” He slowly let on with quiet wariness at the mention of the circle. Justice was practically standing at attention, having been standing at by and watchful through the whole night like watchdog.

“Why?” Hayden quizzed genuinely, unaware of the slight instant of shared distress between the mage and the spirit.

“Maybe because I was brutally thrown into a foreign land and surrounded by a foreign tongue?” he responded, frayed emotions bubbling their way out of the pressure confines of his tense heart and throat. “And also maybe because I refused to talk or answer back to anyone so… they started to call me the ‘Ander boy’. Then as other mages approached me afterward in attempt to befriend the strange foreign boy who dared to escape the tower, they shortened it to simply Anders. It was partly ‘cause I was the only Ander in Kinloch Hold and partly because my name was hard to pronounce for the very few I had told when asked.” When he focused back from the toneless and hollowness his memory ditched him into, he all at once became very aware of the extended hush that sipped into the whole abode.

When he gazed back at Hayden, the latter was already deep in contemplation, lost somewhere in the blond man’s features with an exhaustive calmness.

The next thing he knew, Hayden yanked him close in a searing kiss.

And the world froze like a pail of water in winter.   

His eyes fluttered shut, the sudden perplexity ebbing into a warmness that traveled from the calloused hand that rounded his pale neck to the rest of his body. He felt himself being pushed down into the darkness of the plump couch and blanketed by Hayden’s hard muscles still kissing away abundantly inside Anders’ mouth.    

He had a way of kissing that sent shivers up his spine and soaked his chest in radiating warmth that was lost to Anders’ comprehension. Incontrovertibly firm and sincere, turning him into a boneless puddle of limbs.

Hayden let go of the swollen lips and began to kiss and suck down Anders’ jaw, hands roaming through the rest of his body and slipping inside the mage’s tunic.

A hiss of air escaped Anders’ mouth as calloused palms caressed his naked skin, every movement from the suckling on his jaw to the hands on his waist to the hips grinding atop of him was slow motion and intoxicating. And his mind drifted images of the last night behind his closed eyelids and well.

Last night…

“Tell me something in ander…” Hayden slurred against the column of his neck.

Anders blinked, mind focusing back on his surroundings. Only with their horizontal position, the only think that was staring back was the ceiling. He sighed. “I haven’t spoken ander in ages…”

“Then it will make things even more exceptional,” the bigger man supplied. “I never met someone from there. And I never think I’ve heard their tongue. I find it all fascinating.” And he lifted his head to eye-level with the mage, grinning. “Come on. Please.”

And just like that, Anders found himself wondering when was the last time he said a word in his mother tongue. He found out that it was indeed long ago. Oh yes. He had said a few words to Karl. What had he told him back then?

_‘How do you say Love?’_

_…_

_Vă rog, nu puiul meu—_

_Te iubesc copilasul meu dulce, iartă-mă—_

“I—I don’t know what to say…” Anders whispered back, toneless and wavering, words and emotion caught in his throat like a copper coin.

“Anders? Baby?”

Anders blinked several times. Clear greens reflected by the floodlights that spilled through the window of the living room - cutting pale gashes across Hayden’s face and body.

“Puiule.”

“What?”

“Puiule. Means baby.”

Hayden lips shaped into a perfect o. “Oh. That’s… cute.”

“Mm.”

Hayden cupped his cheeks in both hands and leaning onward. “No really, it’s very cute.” He smiled warmly. “And you accent…” Hayden drawled in a husky rumble, “So very sexy…” he leaned, catching the lower pouty lip between his teeth and nipped at it sensually to show his point.

Anders moaned quietly, resistance failing him slowly as his hands wandered tentatively around Hayden’s sides and defined chest.

“If you’d like I’ll tell you something in orlesian too,” Hayden murmured into his lips.

“You speak orlesian?” Anders wondered.

“Well, I told you so on that night in the Inn. You don’t remember? I told you I was from there,” he softly supplied.

Did he? Remembering that night was probably not the best of ideas. _You mean the night when I was set on killing you? When you made me drink that fancy, strong wine that almost got the best of me? When you kissed me right after I told you I was a mage? Yes, maybe I just slightly tried to erase that night from my mind._

“I was a little buzzed… I suppose. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Now you know.” He leaned and planted a kiss on his neck.

“So… you’re orlesian,” Anders said lightly. “You don’t have the funny accent.”

“You also don’t have the… complicated accent,” Hayden mused.

The blond mage lifted his gaze in an indignant pout. “I lived my whole life in Ferelden yes, but the accent will always be there when I switch tongues.”

“then same for me,” the man said, nuzzling on Anders’ earlobe softly, “Though I also lived in Ferelden for sometime…”

“Really? Wait, you told me that too right?” and Hayden chuckled lowly, “Yes…”

Somehow as Anders contemplated what could have also been shared that famous night, he found himself hands deep in thick tousled brown hair, absentmindly rubbing smooth circles with his fingertips… and you’d think the recognition would make him stop at once, but… he continued for unfathomable reasons. Mostly because the cool gust of air Hayden let against his skin whenever he quietly hummed felt terribly good.

He wondered what kind of picture they painted right now. And then he thought he wouldn’t probably muster the courage to look at it anyway. He closed his eyes jaded of thinking. Why couldn’t he just let himself enjoy the simple little bits of pleasure for once? He’d have plenty of time to ask and blame himself later. Just… not now.  Please…

“I’ve read some smut orlesian novels back in the Circle. They were passed around between the apprentices like dirty little secrets, though they were translated of course.” Anders recalled staring at the ceiling with a far away gaze. As much as the Circle was loathsome, it stayed the place that saw him grow and forged his personality. The place where he made his first circle of friends and shared his first kiss and had his first lover. Among other less factitious first times…

And was he really sharing his history in the Circle with a templar?

“Sounds like you were quite the mischievous one,” the man husked wickedly, crotch grinding shamelessly against Anders’.

Anders did a non-committal sound in the back of his throat and Hayden, as if sensing the dangerous territory he just stepped in, backpedaled quickly. How did they end up talking about mages in the Circle anyway. That was a mined territory and they both knew it.

Hayden lifted himself on his elbows and stared back directly into Anders. “Anyways, tell me something in ander again.”

The blond mage brow furrowed slightly, “Weren’t you supposed to tell me something in orlesian instead?” Speaking his mother land tongue made him feel too… exposed somehow. It was the only thing he succeeded in keeping untainted. A memory no one was able to reach out for it to stain with their cruel hands and faceless oppression.

Just like his name… It’s the thing they shall not have. The thing no one shall be able to soil.

Hayden was examining him somehow eerily. His face bathed in the blue moonlight seeping from the oversized window, leaving them in not absolute darkness. It was as if the moon made sure to angle herself each time in a perfect symmetry with the templar’s face. The pale lighting accentuating his sharp cheekbones and playing across the lines of his forehead and the dips of his dimples.

“J’ai toujours l’impression de me perdre dans cette lueur que tu as dans les yeux.” 

Anders paused, eyes widened. “Wow, that was long. I might have understood a word… you said something about eyes, right?”

Hayden smiled wholeheartedly, “Perhaps…” he drawled.

“It did sound very orlesian. I presume something sappy?”

“Orlesian always sound sappy.” Hayden laughed.

“So spit it out, what was it.” Anders narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t hide his excitement.

Hayden reveled in the little squirm Anders did beneath him and bit his lower lip lasciviously, locking their eyes. “I said: I always find myself lost in this spark you got in your eyes.”

And Anders’ lips parted slightly, cheeks coloring under the man’s intense gaze."What spark?"

"That spark when you talk about something serious or very important vehemently, or when you're wistful sometimes. You got this little spark here," And Hayden pointed with his fingertip on Anders' lower eyelid. 

Maker…   

Hayden descended on him again, mouth brushing his’ and hot tongue reclaiming entrance. He kissed him soundly, his strong hands cupping the mage’s exposed neck and tracing the hem of his shirt.

Slowly, those hands lifted the cloth off Anders’ body and discarded it on the floor. Suddenly the heat which flushed against Anders’ upper body vanished and he found himself opening his eyes immediately to know why. Hayden had lifted himself, knees firmly placed on each side of Anders to take off his shirt. He opened his trouser and eased it down his hips. A blink later and he was on Anders again.

They made out for a while, the couch creaking happily when things got heated, Anders losing himself in the body heat and liquid pleasure licking on his naked skin, hands finally mustering the courage within to reach out and wander lightly over the chiseled muscles of the templar’s shoulders and back and—

“Ah! What the—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vă rog, nu copilasul meu : Please, not my baby.  
> Te iubesc copilasul meu dulce, iartă-mă : I love you my sweet baby, forgive me.  
> I'm not an expert in romanian as much as I am in french, so if you have better knowledge of romanian please do correct me :)  
> I think Romanian suit the Anderfels so much!!


	14. The liars (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for MrBellamy. I know how much you like Hayden <3  
> Thank you for helping me honey <3 hope you enjoy. And for all who are sticking with me, hope you all enjoy (l)

Anders sucked on a breath, hands jerking away in a fast kind of motion, as if being burnt. He was drawn back and tried to straighten up.

“What is—” he narrowed his eyes and then saw it. Burnt flesh. Rotten in tandems like roots of a tree under the soil. Knitted ribs of skin, interconnected like a net.

Hayden’s features switched into something Anders never witnessed before on the man’s face.

Shame. Disgust. Self-directed.

The brown haired man sat back on his haunch and Anders straightened into a sitting position. And for the first time he initiated the first move and gripped Hayden by the shoulders, attention drawn to a very precise body part.

“Maker’s breath…” Anders’ eyes grew impossibly large. Hayden cursed colorfully and moved farther away on the couch, looking for the shirt he scattered somewhere around them.

“But… how haven’t I noticed this… and what is this?!” Anders practically hissed, soft concern never leaving his intentions.

“It’s just an old burn mark, I know it’s ugly. And maybe ‘cause it was too dark in that Lowtown’s hovel. And also that you didn’t really do a lot of body touching.” Hayden said icily.

“I…” Anders stopped, words forming a lump in his throat, not really sure what to add. But his body knew what he wanted right now and his hand stretched onward, towards the man’s back to examine the injury. Only to be brushed away.

“You don’t have to touch it.” Hayden snapped defensively. Then he sighed. “I’m sorry I just… I suppose this was inevitable, I’m surprised it took you so long to see it though.” His shoulders hunched as he sat back again in the same position when they first found themselves on the couch. Nervous.Tentative. Without the spark of excitement though.

“I didn’t see it, I touched it.”

“And it was ugly and disturbing.”

“Can I see it?”

“Can I say no to this one?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t enjoy the idea of you ogling at it.”

“I’m a healer, Hayden. You think I hadn’t seen my share of injuries?”

“It’s already healed Anders, it’s only a scar.”

But Anders sat on his knees, firmly and confidently facing the other man and put a stubborn hand on one shoulder. Then said hand slowly, every so meticulously, traveled southward, “I can’t help it.” He murmured, “When I see a scar, or a wound…” his hand started to bump over the network of burnt flesh over the shoulder-blades, “I have this pull inside me and I cannot ignore it.”

A larger hand clasped against his, stopping its ascension down the back. Anders looked up and Hayden fixed him with a glare so confusing and troubling, Anders felt himself being paralyzed under its weight. “I know it. I know that it does look disgusting. And as much as it tears me up to say it but… I’d understand if you can’t… stand it… I just—I thought maybe I, —you … but I don’t need your pity, Anders. So please…”

“Do you think this is pity? Why? Because as a healer, I want to check up your wound? If it was disgusting I wouldn’t have my hand on it right now. You don’t know what is disgusting until you become a healer amidst a darkspawn crisis and then exert in a place named Darktown.” And all of a sudden it clicked in his head why Hayden was so upset about it. It was not because of the reasons Anders just listed. It was something more deep and, unfortunately, more painful to admit.

The fear of rejection.

He sighed. Glanced back at the web of scorched healed skin painting the man’s back like a nasty disturbing tattoo, snickering at him and daring him not to pull away his hand and recede back. He sighed again. “I’m not disgusted Hayden, I promise.” And to sear his point he added his other hand on the scarred back and let his fingertips slightly start a stroking movement. He remembered Ser-Pounce-a-Lot when he was still wild and cagy like most errand cats. Hayden said nothing, and the hand that hasted Anders slowly pulled its weight from his and Anders was able to slide it away. “It is an impressive scar yes, but I have scars too. Everyone have ugly scars at one point or another. Of course I was able to heal most of them. The worse of them at least. The point is, the shape of the scar does not matter. What matters is that we survive those scars inflicted to us.” He let a small aura of light escape his palms, “You… don’t mind...?”

Hayden turned to see, “What are you doing?”

“I just want to check it out.”

Hayden nodded. “Although I as I told you, it’s pointless, it doesn’t hurt Anders. It is old. It’s just a mark now.”

Anders let his palms pour the blue hued magic inside Hayden’s back to feel the tissues inside. Why was he suddenly set on taking care of this templar, Anders was still not sure; he just needed to make sure everything was fine. He just… needed.

“So it doesn’t give you goosebumps or something?” Hayden voiced softly. Everything around them changed from slow, sexy and indolent to uncertain, disquiet and well... burnt, twisted flesh.

“No…” Anders said thoughtfully. Contemplating the tableau in front of his eyes. Yes, it was indeed upsetting. He did see his share of aggravating burns and charred limbs. But this, before his eyes was a twisted picture of spider-web rotted skin covering the whole back like a trap being once put over, that had left its print forever. It was sickening to behold and, at the same time, empathic. This must have hurt. A great deal of lots. And it doesn’t look like it was being healed smoothly.

The magic told him what Hayden had said. Everything was healed. It was just a scar. A big scar.

And the hush of Thedas hung overhead.

 “How did you get it?” Anders asked softly. The silence was like an ill punishment for both of them.

“A fire. Back in Perendale in Nevarra. The house took on fire and I just… didn’t make it in time.”

Anders listened, the furniture quietly watching, the hands never pulled off the scarred skin. Anders assimilated that along with the fact that the templar had lived in Nevarra too in his head before saying “You can tell me if it’s a mage who did it.”

Hayden wheeled on him. “No it wasn’t a mage Anders. I didn’t lie to you, it was really a fire. An incident.” He said with a face set.

Anders still wondered if that was true.  But Hayden looked sincere. He also looked discomforted and upset; his gaze downcast and no longer self-confident and rakish. He wondered if it was because the whole mood was completely spoiled of if he was recalling the events by which he got that scar. But it wasn’t that that held Anders’ attention. What held Anders’ attention was the sudden air of vulnerability that enfolded the other man. The sight of Hayden, shoulders slouched and head hung in defeat. In shame of his own body. It did something to Anders’ insides. And it did something to Anders’ heart.

“It’s alright.” Came the low murmur.

A sigh. “I’m sorry Anders. I…”

What did it matter the healed bite of a flogged back or the scar of a burnt back.

And suddenly arms rounded Hayden’s shoulders. “Turn around.” And Hayden turned.

Anders pointed to his chest. “Do you see this faint little cut here?” Hayden narrowed his eyes to where Anders’ index was. He simply nodded.

“It was the only wound I couldn’t heal. You know why? Because I did it to myself. At some point through that year of solitary confinement. I think close to the end. I didn’t know back then - I couldn’t know. I… I—” Anders’ voice shook. “I couldn’t bear it. I had enough. I just couldn’t anymore. The maddening darkness, the maddening silence, the demons’ callings for all the suffering to end. You know when you cry until there is no tears left in your eyes? That’s when I had enough. So I stole the dagger of a templar who used to bring me my meal and I brought it over my heart… I tried, I swear I tried but I—” 

Anders looked down, tears in the corner of this eyes, lips trembling at the sickening memory. “Something halted my hand and I couldn’t finish it. And if you ask me now, I still couldn’t tell you the reason why.” Then he lifted his gaze to meet Hayden’s. The man’s eyes were equally on the verge of tears. “It’s not the size or sight of the scar that is ugly. What’s ugly is how we got it.” He said tilting his head as a silent tear rolled down one pale cheek.

Anders’ words hovered around them and bounced off the furniture and then Hayden pulled Anders toward him in a fierce embrace.

And they let go of their wounded past in each other’s arms.

 

***

 

After an undefined amount of time, when the weight of the memories of their scars ebbed into the forgotten abyss of the mind from where it resurged, he didn’t know how they found themselves in Hayden’s bedroom, on Hayden’s bed. They just somehow did.

When they hit the mattress they were already naked, kissing away mindlessly. On their side, facing each other, Hayden pulled Anders even closer, their chest heaving rhythmically and suddenly, Hayden rolled on his back dragging Anders on top of him.

“I thought about it. And I think I’m ready. I mean I’m willing to try if it’s what you want - If it’s you. I trust you.”

Anders stared back taken by surprise. He wasn’t expecting that. But then Hayden reached out to the nightstand’s drawer and closed his hand on a glassy bottle of oil with a cork. He handed it to Anders. “Here.”

Experian healing hands slowly closed on the round flask. He stayed silent for a moment gazing at the object in hand thoughtful, a frown slowly creasing his complexion. “Last night, I didn’t mean to—” but Hayden cut him off.

“I know what you meant. What you told me after made me understand. And that’s why I want to. I don’t only trust you. I want you to trust me.” Hayden said hotly almost fiercely, his eyes set and shining in the dim light of the bedroom. Anders’ breath caught momentary in his lungs, unable to blink that intensity away. “And after all, I don’t think I’ll find a better opportunity then tonight.” He added more softly a smile easing down his lips.

Anders took a visible deep profound breath. And when he exhaled,

he returned the smile.

 

***

 

This time, things were everything but dispassionate. No, not with the way Anders slowly prepared Hayden’s body to the penetration. Not with the way Anders looked at Hayden while applying the oil. Not with the way Anders’ heart beat through it all.

Hayden hissed when Anders first breached inside him. His hands went flying to grip at the first thing in their target which were Anders’ shoulders. “Hurt, I suppose it does at first right?” he said softly through clenched teeth. Almost as soon, Anders released a wave of healing aura that seeped into the brown haired man’s body and the latter sucked in another breath, only this one was accompanied with a much satisfied smile. “ _Ooh_ Maker that felt good.”

 Anders pulled a little and pushed back, lost in his own contemplations of pleasure albeit voiceless. He kept the pace slow and sometimes unmoving, leaving time to Hayden’s body to adjust to his rhythm. Watching the valley of his chest rising and falling with pants and deep breathes. Trying to avert the green eyes seeking his in such an intimate and important moment.

Why wasn’t he able to meet his eyes?

 “Ah… mmh…” Hayden moaned quietly and squeezed his eyelids shut at last. Anders tried a tentative stroke and Hayden exhaled and the grip on his shoulders relaxed, which meant it was a good thing. A nice thing.

“You want me to continue?” Anders tried softly.

Hayden kept his eyes shut, chin lifted and throat never been so exposed when he said “Kiss me.”

And to make things easy he didn’t open them. He just let the words out and waited in that position. Anders eyes grew wide for a second as if Hayden had said something terrible. The mind was shouting, the body frozen, his entire being searching for the answer to that demand.

 “ _Please…”_

And Anders’ eyes grew wide _again_. The space around him unfolded. Anders’ world blacked out for a moment as he leaned downward and obeyed for the first time to a templar. Consensually.

When Hayden felt the lush mouth close on his, he opened his eyes abruptly as if startled or disbelieving and tugged Anders’ whole body over his with full force, crushing his own on the process, “Yes, you can continue.” He whispered.

Anders sucked on a strenuous breath due to the knot on his throat and replaced his fingers with his cock and all at once, they were reduced to grunts and pants and heat and a sensation of déjà vu.

By the time Anders picked up a steady pace on top of Hayden, hands splattered on each side of Hayden’s shoulders, his head was swimming. And only partly from pleasure. Actually he was relishing in that form of power he was engaging in. A _templar_. He made the templar pliant under his hands. And that visceral power twirling inside him wanted _more_.

More, more, more, until he was wild from it and drenched in it.

At some point between the slick slapping of flesh on flesh and pants Hayden voiced out “You feel good?”

Anders couldn’t help the breathy chuckle. “I think that’s my line, but yes, it’s… good, very good.” And added a comforting smile to prove his point.

Hayden laughed. “Sorry, good. I wanted you to feel as good as I did and as I do now.” He punctuated with a dazing dimpled smile, relaxed and pliant it stole Anders’ next breath away and couldn’t help himself but steal a kiss on one broad shoulder. 

“Don’t hold back, I’m good. And I want you to feel as good.” Hayden said, cupping Anders face so warmly and tenderly Anders blanked. He didn’t hear it but more like felt it down his core when he said “Alright.” And picked up the steady pace, until it became hard and deep and left the man underneath him writhing and groaning curses that should've been blasphemous for a proper templar.

Hayden brought Anders down for a fierce sloppy kiss, his hands thrown in the air to grope Anders everywhere at once and murmuring sinful shivering whispers deeply into the hollow of his ear.

Anders’ breath etched and the movements of his hips quickened, “ _Mmmh_ , I’m gonna come…”

“Me too, soon—ungh yes—” Hayden breathed, hips frantic riding Anders’ cock inside him too. One of his hands scooted down to reach between them and started to pump his cock matching the mage’s rhythm inside him.

Anders came undone first with two last thrusts, deep inside the man’s bowels, moaning out the bliss of release as Hayden followed suit after, caught in an overwhelming shudder that pierced his whole body at the sudden foreign act of having someone cum inside him.

It felt warm, blissful and intoxicating and incredibly sinful and with it was enough to finish Hayden with loud growl, ropes of potent fluids spurting all over his hand and abdomen. The sight took Anders breath away for the second time, watching with hooded eyes as the templar unfolded beneath him, vulnerable. Pliant. Harmless.

He quivered. Not sure how to feel about it. Not sure what to do about it. Until he saw the faintest of blue on the come splattered on the man’s abdomen. At the same time, he felt his mind tug sharply. Justice.

All of a sudden, he knew what it was. Lyrium. Or barely traces of lyrium. Mixed with the man’s semen. Anders squinted. It was almost unnoticeable, the quantity must been really poor but Justice was quick to react to it. As if he knew beforehand, that it would be what it would be.

His fingers twitched on their own just like his mind, tugging him forward to lean down and just…

Lick it.

“Oh Maker…” Hayden moaned luxuriously, watching the lascivious display, his face split between pleasant surprise and raw lust. “Fuck you’re so hot.” he breathed, voice rasp, hands sinking in the mass of blond tresses in a possessive way while the mage indulged Justice his own twisted, debauched pleasure.

As if it wasn’t enough that he fell in bed with a templar. That said templar gave him all the control. As if it wasn’t enough the hurricane of contradicting feelings and emotions he felt _every time_ he laid eyes on him. Now Justice had to push him into it too? He certainly didn’t care how wanton his demand was. So what if his cum was mixed up with the barely hint of lyrium? It wasn’t noticeable; yet the taste - the taste was there. The silver-sweet fragrance of the blue hued liquid still clung to the already well known taste of natural semen. But for Justice? It was satisfactory enough. In his mind, at least he got something out of this unacceptable, disrespectful act.

He didn’t notice it when he was softly pulled aside to be dropped properly on the mattress, head resting against a pillow. But when the post coital moment of release was slowly dwindling, Hayden turned to rest on his side, facing a very much dazed Anders.

“Hey, you’re alright?”

Anders didn’t utter a word for a minute, reconstituting everything that happened back again and adding the last piece of come infused lyrium and Justice to the tableau.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Then he turned his head to face the other man with a troubled stare. Deep pools of honey pouring out silent questions and silent incertitudes. Then Anders did something unexpected for the both of them. He lifted the hand that was close to Hayden’s body, and cupped the man’s cheek with it.

They stayed in that position for couple of minutes. Just staring into each other and after an unknown amount of time Anders lips finally broke the spell. “How was it?”

A blink. “Uh?” Not a word. Just a sound uttered from the back of a throat.

Anders smiled. He couldn’t help it. When Hayden was thrown off, it was the loveliest thing to witness. He was only that way when he hanged around Anders in the clinic. Staying out of his path, vivid eyes flitting everywhere where he could be of use. Even when Anders refused to acknowledge him, some kid had to turn up and fill his time. He wondered many times if he had any time left to be a templar. Well, he sure was one, and judging by his rank, a good one, so he probably did find time to do the duty after all. That thread of thoughts made him recall something he would never foresee how he could have forgotten it.

“Hayden did you read the pages I gave you?”

“Uh… Of course.”

Anders didn’t know why it surprised him so much. “You did? really? So what did you think of it?”

Hayden shuffled and shifted somewhat uncomfortably. He pulled an arm over his eyes and groaned. “Do you really want to have this conversation now? I mean I’ve just been fucked, you could try something more smooth. Or dirty.”

Anders furrowed. “Hayden.” He said in a berated tone, but Hayden quickly leaped before Anders said more. “Anders, I promise I’ve read it, so you want to spoil my first time or you want to wait for a few minutes while I do this…” and nipped at the blond’s lower lip.

Anders tried not to moan but Hayden was caressing him behind his ear and trailing fingertips on his lower back. He suppressed a reluctant purr instead as his resolve found itself brought down by the man’s clever hands. After all, if Hayden truly read it and was still willing to kiss him, perhaps that was good sign. “Mmm… fine…” Hayden gnawed on his lips. “Fine—fine ahn… alright… ” Anders managed between Hayden’s nips and bites.

And Hayden stopped his predicament with a winning grin.  

 “Did you like it the other way around?” Anders darted the tip of his tongue to trail over his bruised lower lip before taking it between his teeth.

Hayden knew the quick gesture was purely subconscious no matter how erotic it was. That was Anders for you. All unpremeditated pouts and peeks of pink tongues. And Maker’s mercy it drove him mad. Until now. Because now he was able to do this. “Maker I love your mouth,” and launched himself on Anders, capturing the said mouth in a brusque open mouthed kiss that was more teeth and bites then kissing.

“ _Mmph_ —” Anders moaned, startled by the sudden burst of energy from man. Hayden pushed himself against him until they found themselves rolling twice on the bed, ending up in a fit of tangled limbs and sheets. At the last roll, Hayden ended up on top on Anders, the sheet barely covering his ass and half a leg, unless it was Anders’.

“You are so trapped.” Hayden said, laughing.

“Another roll like that and we’ve ended up on the floor.” Anders said breathless from the kiss and the squirming as he casted a look to his side where his arm was already dangling off the bed.

“Then it would’ve been my turn to be on my back ,so it’s me who would've taken that fall.” Hayden grinned.

“Hum, then it’s all right.”

“You mean, if we had a tumble on the floor?” Hayden said with self proclaimed leer.  Anders snorted at the bad pun though it was well placed in the current states of things.

“By the way, I liked it. Very much. It was painful at first, very weird I won’t deny, but… You were great, and Just knowing it was you helped a lot.” Hayden admitted, cheeky grin squandering into something more serious. Much more honest, Anders could feel his overwhelmed heart in his throat. 

He gulped it down, “You… you trusted me. You don’t know but… This is all about trust. If we could only trust each other… everything would have been so much easier.” Anders spoke softly into the warm embrace of the dim room. The words and their meaning balancing over them like a wish for a shooting star.

Hayden maintained his gaze, the subdued bedside lamp sharping his cheekbones and outlining the perfect features. And then he smiled fondly and kissed the tip of Anders’ nose. Then his lips, then his cheek, up to his temple and forehead. Then took a deep breath and exhaled a smile.

“You’re right. It’s all about trust.” Hayden smothered the errant strands of blond from Anders’ whole face and planted a kiss on his lips. The kiss evolved into a deep kiss to tongues and nips and body friction until they enticed each other’s arousal again. Hayden grinded his crotch against Anders’ tight and elicited a deep sound of pleasure from the mage that reverberated on the walls and sunk the room into that intimate, lust-filled atmosphere that secluded Anders and Hayden into a buoyant airy bubble were everything seemed to not matter so much anymore. What they were, their duties, their rational thoughts, Justice’s thoughts, all the thoughts.

When Hayden held Anders like that, it felt like justice was finally done. As if his cause was finally accomplished and Thedas was finally a safe place for mages; just like it felt safe in the present.

Safe? Was that what licked shivers down his back when he arched it?

He didn’t have enough time to process it because Hayden had reached somewhere and came up with the ditched bottle of oil. He didn’t fumble long around it, uncorking it with both hands, sitting on his knees but still tightly enlaced to Anders in the confinement of white messed sheets and soft plump mattress.   

Anders’ hands grabbed the man’s shoulders, and slowly decided to travel down the man’s back. He did felt the muscles flinch. It lasted a second or maybe two, but Hayden recovered and went back to nurse on Anders’ lower lip. Hayden stroke Anders first with his oily palm, languid and unhurried until he felt Anders’ hips starting to buck frustratingly and slid his hand downward.

And this time Hayden was prepared. “Oh shit…” Anders hissed when the tip of Hayden’s finger caressed and breached slightly the rim.

“Good?” Hayden asked.

“Mmh.” Anders nodded.

Hayden fingered him slowly as he leant forward to drop kisses along Anders’ jaw, neck and collarbones making his breath come in stuttered little sound every time the man above him combined a sensitive kissing spot with a well placed curl of his fingers. 

It was all too slow and too intense and Anders was unfamiliar with that pace. It weighted heavily in the back of his mind and he didn’t understand how or from where that maddening cadence stemmed from. All he wondered was if that was how it felt to be eaten alive.

The room blurred around them and the air was thick and heavy and stopped making it to Anders’ brain. But that was comprehensible, it was shut down anyways.

Anders could almost predict when Hayden was done teasing him with fingers. It was in the same moment he could openly see his pupils swell.

Hayden descended on him again with a fierce kiss, sucking on Anders’ tongue as he withdrew his fingers from Anders and find a comfortable position between his legs.

The air shifted again when Hayden felt for that hot little _dip_ in the body beneath him.

Anders was transfixed with heat. Every cell in his body was thrumming with excitement and lust, so he couldn’t help the “ _Oh Maker…”_ falling like a plea from his lax swollen lips when Hayden nudged him with the glistening tip of his dick.

If Justice was clawing inside him, he didn’t hear it. The pressure and sweet mind-numbing pleasure that washed over him blurred the conexions between him and the spirit like a sudden Smite.  

Hayden fell on his forearms as he let Anders’ body accept and engulf him in flames.

“Sweet Maker’s fucking— _ooh fuck_ yes.” Hayden cursed under his breath and deep into Anders’ ear. He rolled his hips but never pulling back until he was finally seated deep inside.

Anders felt it. And he knew Hayden was feeling it too. The way every movement was so indolent it made them _taste_ how the blond man stretched slowly around the girth. Anders wasn’t used to that. Wasn’t used to feel every inch and curve of his body accommodate the sex. His body was programmed to quick rapid fucks or hard and sweaty fucks. There never been room for that… feeling. He couldn’t even put a name on it.

But his body knew better. It kept things slow, every arch and tilt languid and slothful. It felt like lying on a plump cloud or being able to breathe underwater.    

 And in that moment, Anders wondered if that was how it felt _to make love…_

Oh but Anders did made love - Once. It wasn’t on his first time like in all those romantic mushy orlesian novels that got passed between the apprentices in the library. But it was with the first person that ever mattered back then and though it’s been years ago, you never quite forget the first time you make love. Neither the second time.

“Mmm…” Hayden moaned cutting off Anders’ trail of thoughts. He looked up and found the man’s eyes and wondered if Hayden felt the same way he was feeling. One look into those pools of green and Anders saw that he wasn’t the only one slightly confused about the whole submerging feeling and how unpredictably intense and _intimate_ everything around them fell into.

Heavy panting filled the air as the bed creaked quietly beneath them. Anders started to panic from the self reservations that were starting to crumble like a shattered glass wall from the dangerous and wondrous feeling. Because He knew, it would never be in his best interest; as a mage, love was only synonym of too much to risk and too much to lose.

He personally never met a mage who was living happily and in love. Even Amell, who gained the respect from a whole nation and was lavished with praise and too low bows didn’t seem to be half as enthusiastic or jovial as anyone would’ve been in her place. And Anders knew why later. The Circle has left her bitter and almost self-effacing toward the outside world. And though she was a beautiful woman capable of cracking warm and cordial smiles, long habits died hard such as lonesomeness and mages-aren’t-allowed-to-fall-in-love indoctrination.

In his mind he was torn between wanting it and letting go and then, not sure how to or even if he really wanted to.

_“I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t do this, I—I need to go.”_

_“What? What—Anders, no wait, you… you can’t just leave like that—”_

_“I do, this is—this too much and you’re a templar and—”_

_“Anders please don’t go, don’t leave… please…”_

_“I’m sorry Hayden.”_

That was the scenario that played across Anders’ head for a moment. And then Hayden hit his prostate and Anders came back to reality to find himself not at the door leaving the bedroom but still laying ankles loosely crossed around the man’s lower back, panting and fucking away.

Hayden started a harder pace, not fast but deeper, grunting each time Anders constricted the muscles of his insides around him and everything was reduced to a ride of pleasure. Hayden leaned forward and kissed him profoundly, taking a long leg in his hand to drape it over one shoulder; no barrier left to wonder where Hayden begun and Anders ended.

Everything that followed was timeless for Anders. Until low breathy - _auh auh auh -_ fell from his lips and he was coming in Hayden’s hand and abdomen and the green eyed man did the same too deep inside of him making Justice’s grumble and twitch unsettlingly close to the surface where he could sense the faint traces of lyrium shot in Anders.

As the bliss of orgasm slowly subsided and Hayden rolled properly off and beside him, Anders was finally able to catch his breath and it was not only breath that caught up to him. It was also anxiety dawning on him. Because what to do now? How to act after what happened. Things clearly slipped out of control. And Anders was sure they were both unprepared for the intensity of what happened.

It was insane, it was wrong, he was _a templar!_   Anders’ mind riled hopelessly, yet Justice was strangely silent and seated after the release. Anders could only imagine how perturbed the spirit must’ve been now. He was probably admonishing himself for taking part in such a deviant act.

His line of thought was stopped abruptly when Hayden scooted closer and draped a hand on his middle. Anders’ eyelashes swept up. The man was lazily smiling like a cat that got the cream. They were still tangled in the sheets, sweaty and sticky and smelling of sexual satisfaction.

“Hey,” Hayden drawled, “You good?”

Anders’ eyes dropped to where Hayden’s index was doing shapes and circles on his chest. “Yes.”

Hayden kissed him softly on the lips and repeated, “Good.” He lifted himself and wriggled out of the sheets mess to make himself more comfortable, brought a pillow close to Anders’ head and finally sighed “Good.” He muttered somehow to himself and threw an arm over his forehead and eyes, the other one still around Anders, comfortably huddled against him. Minutes later Anders heard a steady breathing escaping the man’s nose and he couldn’t blame him; he was exhausted himself.

So he didn’t think twice and just closed his eyes too. The soft snoring beside helping him faster into the fade’s arms…

 

***

 

It was an unusual feeling to wake up stark naked and still agreeably warm under sheets and blankets. In fact Anders was more used to sleep with as many clothes as he could, especially in the cold days. Because winter in Kirkwall was an unforgivable biting bitch.

That was why, when he first blinked and shuffled to his side, he was pleasantly surprised. Until it dawned on him where and why he was indeed in the nude in a plushy bed.

Anders straightened up at once. Or more like jerked up in a sitting position; disheveled loose hair sticking to his cheeks and all.

He looked around. The bedroom was still mildly in the dark, the only large window on the farest wall to his right showed a cold gray pearly sky and the faint promise of the first lights of the day. He could sense that everything was still quiet outside. But more importantly, it was quiet inside too.  His heart rabbit-leaped with something he couldn’t perceive. His mind flashed the last night activities while his brain analyzed the situation.  He was alone, naked and in a templar’s bed.

Anders scrambled to his feet instantly. He really lost the sense he was born with. What was wrong with him? He bristled to himself while searching the floor for any garment at all. He spotted his smalls by the footboard and bent forward to pick them up when the door behind him creaked open.

“Oh hey! Good morning!” and Anders jolted up startled out of his skin.

“Maker’s breath! Hayden,” Anders narrowed his eyes perplexedly. “You’re here?”

“Of course I’m here? Where do you want me to be? Or wait, don’t answer that.”

Anders squinted his eyes harder, not liking where this was going to. The man advanced toward him with an indolent sway of shoulders and stopped to catch the blond mage by the hips loosely. “But the sight of you bent over was a very good morning indeed.” He grinned impishly, leaning to kiss beneath Anders’ ear and then capturing his lips lazily. 

Anders flushed at the kind of view he must have projected. “I was just… looking for my clothes. And what time is it?”

“Early enough. I knew you’d wake up early again like last time, but after last night, I wanted you to rest properly. Soo…” Hayden drawled with a small smile that lit up the whole room, “I decided to fix us a little breakfast while you rested. But the truth is I liked the sight of you snuggled in my pillow and sheets and didn’t want to wake you.”

Anders blushed faintly out of words as a tentative calmness passed through his features. The feeling he had when he poured himself brusquely out of the bed earlier ebbing away like a blurry bad dream.

Hayden hadn’t left.

He bit his lip at prickling feeling of relief he was feeling in his stomach.

“But since we still got time, how about this, you bend down to grab you smalls, and then you come have breakfast with me. How’s that sound? Easy plan huh?” Hayden drawled with a low seductive rumble, his fingers traveling leisurely up and down Anders’ bony hips. And how could Anders resist such an invitation and radiant smile. “Or we could have a bath first then breakfast. Or both at the same time.” The man bit the corner of his lip mischievously.

Anders’ eyes widened in delight. The prospect of a warm bath thrilling him more than sanely necessary, and words tied themselves into a giant ball of “yes.”

He couldn’t help it. Right there, right now, he couldn’t help it. He leaned over to taste sunlight on the man’s lips. Every move was weightless and liberate and the kiss that was supposed to be chaste deepened under burgeoning emotions and promises of baths and breakfasts.

They eventually broke the kiss, bodies flushed and eyes hooded. “Good, I’ll go take care of the water then.” Hayden supplied and turned to leave.

Anders padded in the hallway in nothing but his smalls, judging that since he was about to take a bath, he wouldn’t need to pull his breeches on. As much as the feeling of ambling in a stranger’s house half naked was preposterous and inappropriate, he decided he could just head directly to the bath. He only needed to find it… But the smell of food was the first thing that found him first.

“It smells good.” Anders offered amiably.

“Close your eyes.” Hayden strode to him, one hand hid behind his back.

 Anders tilted his head, opening his mouth to question but Hayden urged him on, “Just close them!”

So Anders acquiesced.

“Now open your mouth.”

Anders arched an eyebrow as he obeyed, heart still flustering and the next thing he knew, something sweet and creamy was deposed smoothly between his teeth and Anders closed his mouth to taste it. It was a small bit of a strawberry scone with smooth melting cream and Anders almost moaned. He didn’t, thought he wouldn’t deny the subtle shiver that prickled in him. And who would blame him? His breakfast had consisted so far of a slice of bread if he was lucky - buttered - or a fruit. Sometimes close people from Lirene’s shop would share their dried meat with him or Lirene would smack some silvers in his palm forcefully and threaten him to go buy some real food with it in the market. She was a good a woman that Lirene.   

He fluttered his eyelids open, relishing on the luscious taste dancing the marigold on his tongue. “Please don’t you dare tell me it’s you who made this.”

“No, but that’s my secret.” Hayden winked. “I thought you liked sweet things. I was right.”

“I like everything that isn’t staled.” The truth was there were some things that Anders’ never had the chance to eat, and a hot strawberry cream scone was one of them.

Hayden cracked a hesitant smile but kept it at that and Anders added, “But honestly, you didn’t need to prepare all that really…” he said, flicking his eyes toward the table where they dined last night.

But Hayden just waived a hand, “Please I only had to crisp some beacons and cook eggs toasts. Don’t worry,” he said circling Anders with his arms, “I didn’t bust my ass I promise.”  He grinned.

“Fine.” Anders flattered, “But if you don’t mind… I’d like to take that bath first. I’m a little sticky…”

“Hmmm… I don’t mind sticky… but I’ll go check the water if you want a bath first then.” and Hayden turned to leave instantly after plucking a berry from a bowl full of red fruits in his mouth.

“Hayden.” Anders called and the man turned around, “Thank you.”

Hayden gave him that bashful dimpled smile again, too sweet for the rest of his complexion and just said, “I’ll be right back.”

Anders thanking a templar was one thing, but actually looking forward to that promise? That was a new level of alarming. He followed the man with his eyes until he saw what turn he picked and rounded on the small feast on the table. He knew. There were words unspoken there; under those strawberry scones and home-made coffee.  He wondered if it was out of fear or uncertainty. But the only thing he knew was that he was glad for it. Because in his case, that was exactly what he was feeling. He picked up a berry from the bowl before following on Hayden’s path.

The washroom consisted of a stoned medium tub, large enough for three persons Anders presumed and nothing else. Towels folded on a table against one wall. 

“Just another few minutes for the water to warm up.” Hayden said when he spotted Anders entering.

“You know, I can help with that.” Anders approached and leaned slightly to touch the water. This time without permission, he dipped his palm just above the water and released a low controlled fire spell. Steam quickly rose as Hayden’s eyes grew wide in rapt. “Wow, that’s… very handy.” And Anders chuckled. Relief. Satisfaction. A sliver of pride. What he felt every time he used his magic and was thanked or people were in awe from it. As few as that category of people was.

“Close the door so you don’t let out the heat.” Anders said.

Hayden obeyed saying “You could heat the water endlessly. In fact you could heat the whole place!”

“It doesn’t work that way. Maybe I can throw a fireball in a hearth but I can't just let out fire in the air. Though I could call for a cold wind to cool down a place.” Anders mused.

The man walked back toward the tub and stopped short before Anders. His hands trailed down his body until they grasped the waist-band of his smalls and started to slip them lower.  “So advantageous. Do you know other tricks like that?” he slurred in his ear.

Anders felt that voice down his spine. “Quite a few.”

The templar _mm’_ ed as he dragged Anders slowly backward. Anders’ legs hit the stony bathtub and found himself sitting on the rim. He didn’t wait for the man and balanced a long leg over and inside the heated water.

His whole body and Hayden followed suit and sweet bride of the Maker did it felt good. Anders exhaled pleasurably sinking deeper into lukewarm bliss. There was enough space to extend his long limbs and the blond mage did just that. He tipped his head backward and it fell on warm muscles. Anders twisted his head, ambers on greens that ducked to kiss him lusciously.

Everything went sluggish, from the kiss to the feeling welling inside his stomach. The quiet around them was almost protective, as if inside the delicacy of a soap bubble hovering and brittle.

As if no one knew they were there. As if they were alone in the world in that tub. As if time had paused and the quiet splotch created from their slow sensual movements and kisses were the only thing Thedas could hear.

They broke away as Hayden pulled out a shinning flask from one edge of the tub were bathing utensils were seated and poured its transparent content around them. Instantly, Anders’ nostrils were hit with sweet exquisite scent of almonds and mint and something woodsy. The liquid didn’t even soap the waters and Anders sunk deeper until his head and neck were the only think visible.

Hayden chuckled and poured another liquid - this time white and creamy like a balm - on his hand. He watered Anders’ hair and begun to scrub it with that white lotion. And Anders’ lips escaped a tiny little whimper.

“Enjoying yourself over there?” Hayden laughed.

“This feels… uh. Great. Um, you don’t have to wash my hair you know I—” Anders stammered trying to turn away but the other man kept him in place. “Just stop fidgeting and I promise I won’t bust my ass doing it.” He teased with a low chuckle. “I like it.”

Anders resigned and slumped in a comfortable position with a reluctant sight.

As Hayden tended to his back and shoulders with a sponge, Anders felt oddly buoyant. He reached inside to feel Justice and surprisingly, the spirit was _quiet…?_ On his guards, prying inconspicuously and still humming his disapproving but. Quiet. Anders tried to pierce in Justice’s internal thoughts but the access was barred. He frowned indignantly, asking him why inwardly and he felt Justice’s response in his core:

 _I will watch his every move. But this is wrong. And you will_ _regret it._

“Hey. Are you alright?” Hayden voiced out in the silence breaking Anders’ thoughts. “You shivered. You want to heat the water?”

“Ah, no. It’s fine.” The mage ran his hands over the gooseflesh and Hayden extended his to circle him too.

There, nestled one against the other, Anders assessed what Justice said with the reality. And suddenly an odd feeling enveloped him. Justice was right, this was wrong. This embrace was wrong. But why? Because he was a templar? Because of what they’ve done to him? Because he vowed himself to free the mages and overthrow the system? Because the wheels were already in motion with the mages underground? Because of what they did to Karl?

Yes. For all these reasons and more, that embrace was wrong. This was the rough reality behind that washroom door and those walls and those crispy scones.

But for all the reality that was awaiting him outside those walls, had it ever brought him such a nice place to sleep? And for all the people waiting for him outside those walls, had someone ever told him to just relax while washing and massaging his body ? Had someone ever cooked him a surprise dinner? Or maybe brought him strawberry cream scones?

So yes. If he could indulge in stolen moments of pleasures offered to him willingly in-between the hardship that was waiting for him, then he would be selfish enough and accept it. Maybe everything would dissolve when he will step outside Hayden’s apartment, but that was just fine. He was fine with short little moments.

He was used to them anyways.

Hayden’s hands were trailing down his hips, stroking the inside of his thighs while nipping on Anders’ milky white neck, the water no longer see-through and limpid with all the lotions and soaps.

Anders felt a hand lightly stroking his member while the other was sinking deeper between his open tighs. Prodding at his entrance languidly and rubbing at his relaxed hole. He hadn’t meant to stop it when he said “Hayden? Why did you become a templar?”

But they stopped nonetheless.

“It’s… complicated.”

“But I want to know. I want to know why a templar?” Anders twisted his body so to look at the man’s eyes continuing, “You could have been anything else! Can’t you see what is going on around you—” Hayden cut him off as he gripped him to turn him back to his initial position. Anders slumped with no struggle. But only because Hayden then wrapped his arms around him, taking a breath.

“Listen.” He started quietly, chin on Anders’ shoulder, “I understand how this matter is overriding to you. How you loath the Order. But trust me Anders, I’m not like the Knight-Commander. I never hurt a mage and never would. It’s just… happened… been decided.”

Anders bristled. “What? You mean by the chantry? You’re such a faithful chantry boy you couldn’t do anything else but join an Order who have gone depraved and corrupt from the inside? You live in there! You can’t be blind to what’s happening around you! And I’m only talking about the Gallows here!” Anders started to shake. Justice rattled the cage of his mind to unfold. What he’d said had come from Anders and Anders alone. And Justice was the only thing that could sense the boiling outrage under bones relaxed with herbal soaps.

He wanted to turn and face the man eye to eye. He didn’t care if he spoiled a delightful moment. Justice will have his answer. _He would have his answer._

“I’m not blind.” His voice changed. Rasp and etched. Anders felt the muscles against his back tighten. “I know templars are becoming ruthless and greedy for power and position. But I’m not like them. Do you see me as depraved and corrupt too?”

Anders’ features twisted in a grudging grimace before murmuring “No.”

“I have my reasons why I became a templar. Serious reasons that lead me here. I was… in difficulty and I wasn’t always like this. And no. It has nothing to do with the chantry. I can assure you.” He added somehow more… somberly…

“In… difficulty? What do you mean? You were poor?” Anders turned his head to look at the man.

Hayden sighed softly, slightly shifting his gaze sideway. “It’s just circumstances. I found this job, three years ago, and took it. It was never a choice.” he divulged with an imperceptible stare. Anders eyes grew wide.

The water stopped moving as the two men stayed immobile. The only thing moving is their blinking eyes as ambers were trying to discern what other secrets laid behind those green orbs.

“But… now… things had changed for you. You can do something else. Anything else. You are… you seem to be a good man, you deserve better.” Anders pressed, tilting his head.

To his surprise Hayden smiled and cupped his cheeks. A sad smile. Sad like when Anders saw his burn mark. Everything quieted; the walls and the bird behind the glassed window leaning in silence to listen.

“Thank you. You are good too. But I can’t. I have obligations…” Anders shook his head trying to interject but Hayden didn’t budge. “Responsibilities…” and he spoken the last word with such a pained expression, Anders wondered if he was really referring to his duty to the Order.

Or wasn’t he?

“What do you mean?” Anders demanded softly with slightly puckered lips since Hayden hadn’t let go of his cupped cheeks.

“What I mean baby, is that for now, I can’t quit. But it’s a bit complicated than you think. So don’t hold it against me.” Then he leaned to capture the pouty lips, “But I would never harm a mage.” He said between the kiss, making Anders frown frustratingly. It was so self-contradicting. “And I swear. They can never corrupt me.” He released Anders. “You trust me right?”

Anders looked at him - _really looked_ \- and said “I want to.”

For now.


	15. The liars (Part 3)

When they got out of the bath, the sky had finally brightened, birds chirping around the highest Kirkwall’s structures and Anders saw from one window of the living room that merchants had started to arrive from every corner. Dwarves were the earliest ones, Anders noted airily.

He was fresh like a spring daisy and probably smelled like one too as he joining the templar to eat. The coffee had to be heated and Anders watched lightly as Hayden attended to that while munching on an egged toast. He wouldn’t lie. He felt rejuvenated. A good night sleep, a warm bath, a delicious breakfast. He knew one thing: he wasn’t about to forget this day in a long time.

Hayden returned with the cups and took a sit to his right. They ate in a hard to believe comfortable silence.

“You’ll leave for the clinic?”  Hayden asked.

“Yes. And I should hurry.”

“Why? It’s still so early. I bet we’re the only people up in the building. Honestly, I don’t usually wake up so early too. But I had to make a sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” Anders arched a perfect eyebrow, repeating with a small bemused lilt to his voice.

“If I hadn’t woke up before you, you would have fled like a startled cat. And don’t try to deny it.”

“I’m not trying.”

Hayden snorted and pulled on a sly smile. “Say something in ander.”

Anders rolled his eyes.

“Come on please.” The man grinned.

“No.”

“I’ll say something in orlesian.” He sing sung playfully like a parent trying to bargain his way with his kid.

“You first.”

“Tu vas sentir comme moi pendant toute la journée maintenant.” He said easily, and Anders couldn’t help the thrilling smile upon hearing the elegant rich tongue he’d always found captivating.

“What’s that?”

“I said, you’ll be smelling like me all day now.” The man answered satisfactorily.

Anders eyes widened in blatant surprise. Oh. Yes of course.

“On with you.”

Anders narrowed his eyes for a few seconds and fired in foreign accent, “Am întârziat.”

Hayden leaned closer. “Maker, you accent is fucking sexy. You said something dirty? Tell me it’s something dirty.”

Anders indulged him his fantasy, tilting closer too, “I said…” Hayden _mm_ ’ed, licking his lips.

“… That I’m late.” And the blond mage stood up.

“What?” Hayden looked up, shaking off from whatever lurid thoughts that had already started to play in his head. “Already?” and he got up too.

“Yes. I can’t linger.”

Hayden scooped him by the waist pulling him bluntly flush against him. “You are not fun, I had plans for us and this bowl of cream over there.” he drawled huskily, tipping his head to said bowl.

“Hayden, the clinic won’t open itself. And I have many things to do.”

Hayden nuzzled on his ear, taking the lobe in his teeth. “You have plans?”

“Yes.” He always checked on the mage underground for updates and new missions. Justice was also manifesting.

“You too, you need to go right?” Anders inquired. The answer known beforehand.

“Uh yes.” Hayden grumbled against the mage’s ear.

“You… I trust you.” Anders said and Hayden pulled off him to look up. “I trust you. Right?” Anders repeated firmly. And Hayden nodded.

The man won’t quit the Order. But there was hope yet. Hayden was already so acceptant Anders was still bewildered by it. He didn’t want to pass the chance to sway him off to his side fully. He was just too good.

“Wait here. I’ll pack you something to take with you.” Anders watched him disappear in the kitchen for a while and came back with little satchel. He saw him pack what was left of the scones and some fruits and handed him everything. Anders sighed and reluctantly accepted the free food.

“Thank you.”

Hayden shifted his eyes here and there sighing. “I wish we had all day. I’m not nearly done with you.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.” Anders quipped with a lifted brow.

Hayden scoffed, “You know what I mean. I wanted to spend more time with you. But.” Hayden lifted both hands in odd surrendering manner, “I shouldn’t be ungrateful after all. You accepted coming despite your relationship. So… that’s that.”

Anders frowned and after a quick cogitation it clicked. He was referring to Hawke. Him and Hawke. Oh Maker, that stupid lie was still dragging behind them.

“But I’m glad you gave me a chance.” The man went on and scooped Anders in his arms again for more reassurance. “And remember? I told you you wouldn’t regret it.” He drawled sensually against Anders.

Anders stayed out of words and with the thought of Hawke now dancing in the front of his head. His pale gray eyes. His smile. His smug winks. The way he sometimes brushed Anders’ arm or hand. And finally, the last image of him. Steely gaze blameful and inscrutable. It made him shiver right there in the other man’s arm.

He hated it.

That look, that feeling of guilt and embarrassment reeling in his chest. And why should he feel guilty about anything. Oh of course, dragging Hawke’s name into this mess was not really fair by the man, especially without his consent. But then, Anders remembered how it all started.

How Hawke once kissed him to prove to anyone watching that he was already taken.

He had spend days thinking about that kiss and what Hawke had told him.

_“And anyway, it wasn’t that unpleasant!”_

He’d done it so spontaneously, so effortlessly; it left Anders wondering for days if Hawke was really the type to kiss anyone on a whim.

Yet he noticed that he never played Isabela’s flirty game for too long, and beside her, he was pretty reserved in that subject. Reserved or hiding well his game. Judging by what he saw that night in the Hanged Man, perhaps Hawke was just playing his cards behind prying eyes.

And that kiss was just what it meant. A friendly service. If friendly was still what they were.

“Yes well, I have to go now.” He finally said with an evasive look, snapping out of those irritating thoughts.

“Alright. Oh wait. Wait a minute, I’ll go down with you, I want to show you something.” Hayden hastily claimed and rushed to the bedroom to retrieve a proper shirt. Anders frowned.

“Alright, let’s.” Hayden said, emerging back with a loose white tunic, bare arms and collarbone. And bare feet too. So he wasn’t leaving with him.

As they exited the apartment, and descended the stairs, Anders was still wondrous. “What it is that you want to show me then?”

“Rory!” Hayden called in response when they got to the lobby of the building. He could already hear the tumult of Hightown coming to life with its merchants and citizens exchanging greetings, the sun brazing high in the sky. Maker, when did time flew by so rapidly. He was just taking a pre-dawn bath few minutes ago.

Suddenly a boy materialized in front of them. Running cheerfully to stop before the two men with a cheeky smile plastered on his boyish face. Anders gave him thirteen tops. The mischievous glint in his eyes when he sized him up didn’t do thirteen justice though.

“So you wrapped it up last night ain’t ya!” The boy shot and Anders’ eyes bulged out. “Huh, it’s lady Lyssia’s daughter who’s gonna be pissed when she’ll know about it. Unless she already heard about it!” the kid grinned puckishly. Then he turned to Anders, “‘Cause they live next door.” He supplied. “And it’s been years since Lyssia had been trying to set up Hayden with her daughter.” His grin grew even larger than possible, crinkling his baby blue eyes.

Hayden ruffled his already tousled hair. “Watch that mouth, how many time do I have say it’s going to bring you troubles.” But the gesture and the words were spoken with such fondness Anders was left staring. Trying not to let a teen’s knowing leer make him blush.

“So why’d you call me? To present me your boyfriend? You never do that? Unless this is the real deal? Am I invited to the wedding party? If so, I’ve got the right to bring a guest with me too! I’m gonna get bored out of my arse with you bunch of pompous coin bags people.”

They all stood silent for a brief moment before Hayden cracked. Anders was just too dumbfounded by the hurtling of propos the boy had shot to do much but stiffen embarrassingly. He wasn’t yet sure if there was a compliment somewhere in there considering the boy thought of him as a noble gentleman.

What in the Maker’s name was going on?

“Alright.” Hayden said still chuckling, “Alright, Anders, this is Rory. He works here in the building. Kind of do deliveries and other services for the people that live in here. Rory stop being silly and say hello.”

“Hello Messere Anders.” Rory obeyed with such sweet politesse, ducking his little head and peeking from under his eyelashes, sounding all of a sudden innocent and composed. It went like a switch that slightly startled Anders.

“Good.” Hayden praised with another ruffle of fiery crimson hair, this time more softly. “If it weren’t for your cute face, Madame Willemina would have thrown you out of this building long ago.”

And just like that, that malicious little smirk was back again, twinkling at Hayden.

“Uh, just Anders is fine.” Anders said with hesitancy as he kept frowning meaningfully at Hayden.

What in the Void was he doing introducing him to people like that!

“Rory’s been taught to call adult people formally like that. But if Anders’ fine, you can call him by his name directly.” Hayden told Rory, looking at him like a father would look teaching his son good manners.

Anders shot him a look that said ‘What in the Black Void are you doing’.

“Listen.” Hayden started. Voice dropping into seriousness. “If you ever need to reach me and I’m not here…” he raised his eyebrows significantly, “Or you need to send me a message or anything at all, Rory’s big brother works in the ferry that does the route back and forth between the docks and the Gallows all the time.”

Anders eyes flittered to the boy again as comprehension started to sink in. the latter was listening attentively as Hayden spoke. All the fiery attitude flown away again.

“If you need anything, just ask for him. He’s most of the time here. You can trust him, he’s a good lad.” Hayden explained with a smiling nod.

 _Oh Maker_. “All right.” Anders managed through the dizziness of the whole situation. He looked down and tried a smile on the kid. The kid smiled back. Wide and a tad bashful. So the boy wasn’t a mere Hightowner brat. He was from the slum too. And for all his cocky attitude, Anders could see the wily glint in his eyes. And Hayden seemed to trust him well enough, so.

“Very well then. Rory, you can go now.” Hayden smiled down at him and the boy bounced happily.

“Oh and!” Hayden called from behind making Rory turn abruptly on his way out of the building, “If lady Lyssia hears you call her so informally, she won’t be pleased!” Hayden admonished with muse.

“When she’s not pleased, she get that blue vein in her forehead that pop out and its soo funny to watch!” the boy tittered.

And there goes that switch again.

Hayden laughed. “Well, that’s Rory to you.” He said with a shake of head.

“He seems to be a very spirited kid. Very… bouncy.”

“Yeah, that’s the word! So… Have a nice day,” Hayden said softly, leaning in to put one final kiss on Anders’ lips. “I wish I could accompany you…”

“But you can’t.” Anders stopped him mid-sentence. No way. Impossible.

“Yeah. I’ll see you.”

Anders didn’t know what to do with that promise. “Hayden. That talk we had in the bath, it’s not over right?”

Hayden eyes looked startled for a moment then composed. “No. It’s not.” He simply answered with a gentle smile.

Anders tipped his head, shared one last silent stare with the man and turned away.

 

***

 

He tried to cross Hightown from the market place. It was usually crowded and easy to meld in. The quickest way out of Hightown was by crossing the chantry’s square. Or else he would need to take a long walk to reach the other Gates. He did the math quickly in his head, taking in the risks of the templars prowling around the chantry more than any other place in the city, and how he never liked to stroll around there alone, but he didn’t carry his staff with him, and he was in a real hurry to open the clinic, so he gulped the knot of anxiety and willed his feet to turn back and stride quickly and firmly toward the closest exit. He barely entered the chantry’s square that someone called his name.

“Anders?”

Anders stiffened for a second upon hearing his name. Someone recognized him in here? A templar? A—

He turned abruptly, “—Hawke?”

The man himself stood casually few miles from him, a tilt to his head and a curious stare playing across his rugged features.

Anders willed his heart to slow back to normal as Hawke approached with tentative footsteps. Yet he couldn’t help the furtive lilt of his voice when he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Someone had just snapped a bounty back with an arrow on the chantry-board from the Grand Cleric’s hands. Thought I would check.”

Oh, ever so exciting.

“And you? What are you doing so early in here? ”

“Me? Ah, I just wanted to check the market for any fresh vegetables. You know a change from the withered sad ones we get in Lowtown.”

“So did you buy anything good?” Hawke asked eying the odd satchel by the mage’s hip.  

“Oh, no, my pouch wouldn’t afford me more than two potatoes at those prices.”

“You should try the stalls at the Alienage Blondie. They got the best freshest and cleanest food.” Varric offered.

“Oh good idea, well I was on my way back to Lowtown anyway so…”

“Want to hang out with us?” Varric asked after flitting his eyes between the two men.

“No I should go see if someone needs my help at the clinic. But thanks for the invitation, Varric.” He smiled.

“See you later then?” Varric pressed.

“Uh, probably… Have a good day.” And then his eyes flickered back to Hawke, finding the warrior already staring openly at him. Not glaring. Not peering. Just… staring.

“You too.” Hawke said curtly, tipping his head slightly. So it seemed that tension between them was still between them.

Anders did the same with his head in a last farewell and turned away, jogging back toward the gates of the Undercity.

 

***

 

The day in the clinic went by as any other. A kid was brought to him unconscious and a man scrambled up to him holding his organs back in his stomach.

It took him all of his energy this one. The man was practically dying, agonizing, and screaming his lungs out.

But it was until sometimes in the middle of the afternoon that it’d been confirmed. That day did absolutely not go as any other.

“ANDERS.” And Anders jerked up from what he was doing, the voice recognized all too well since he just spent _the whole night_ with it.

“What in—!” Then he caught a good sight of the man who just bellowed his name and gasped loudly. “Andraste’s flaming ass Hayden what in the Black Void are you doing here in those clothes!” Anders staggered backward, instinctively reaching for his staff at the sight of templar gear invading his semblance of a home.

“You have to leave _now,_ ” Hayden hasted, not acknowledging Anders’ question. Not even taking time to breathe back properly. “A patrol of templars will be here in any moment. You need to leave this place now you hear me?”

Anders’ eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Wh—what? When?”

He started to panic. Grip tightening on his staff, Cricket had scrambled to his feet too; wide eyes like saucers flitting between the unsual tableau of a mage and a templar having an almost natural converstation before him.  

Hayden crossed the space in two strides and came nose to nose with the mage. “Meredith is sending a group of templars to investigate Darktown. Mostly to assess the number of refugees but it’s going to be unpredictable so no one get to flee if mages were hidden in here.” Then he took Anders wrist, thrusted something steely in his palm before curling Anders' fingers firmly back onto it. “Go to the Lowtown house. And stay there.”

Anders looked up stunned. “But—but how long?”

“I don’t know. I won’t be the one leading them. It’s the Knight-Sergeant. I don’t know when she will instruct them to leave. It could be any time now. You need to go _now_.” Hayden urged.

“Yes yes…” Anders frowned nervously, looking around his clinic and catching sight of the young boy by the cot looking at loss. “Cricket, go back to Walter. Go.”

 The boy hesitated for a second, eyes running between the two men. Anders put his two hands on the boy’s shoulders and slouched to meet his eyes. “And don’t tell anyone about what you saw Cricket please. You hear me?”

Cricket nodded, “And you? You’ll be alright?”

“Yes, don’t worry about me, go, now.” The boy obeyed.

“I need to go, stay there at least until after dusk. The templars want everyone out and about and not sleeping in their lodgings. And don’t forget, if there is anything, send word with Rory.”

“Yes.” Anders managed.

With those last words, Hayden left him reluctantly but not before casting a last look at him by the door. Anders rushed toward the back of the clinic. He hid everything important in his chest inside the invisible trap hatch underneath his cot. He picked up the satchel Hayden gave him that morning and blindly threw in few parchments, a book, a quill, an ink-pot and few flask of lyrium.

We never know.

He buckled his staff on his back and with one last look at his clinic, locked it and doused the lanterns.


	16. The liars (Part 4)

 

He did good taking the parchments and the quill with him, Anders thought. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he arrived at the house but he would have apparently died of boredom if he didn’t have something to do. And using his hiding time continuing his manifesto was more than he could’ve hoped for in such a drastic situation. Still, his mind couldn’t help but wander towards his clinic. Wondering if everything was fine, if the templars did burst inside, if they found the hatch under the cot.

Beside his manifesto and Karl’s letters that he couldn’t yet bring himself to destroy, there weren’t really things that could’ve been hold against him in that chest. It was just few sentimental possessions that made him smile when he needed it the most and kept his sanity in check.

He had lovers and friends and a mother that cared for him once. His life wasn’t empty. That little chest was the proof of it.

Anders shivered. He was so frustrated and agitated that he allowed himself a nap to pass the time. His wrist was hurting and he was resentful to note that Justice was disappointed by his inability to keep up the task with his left hand.

He noticed later that Hayden had thrown honeyed cookies along with what was left of the scones in the satchel. He had given the strawberry pastry to Cricket and that poor sod who agonized for hours, so he was glad for something left to fill his belly.

 He flopped tiredly on the bed and let his eyelids flutter shut for a while. After all, it had started to rain heavily outside and as much as Anders loved rain, he wasn’t really in the mood to be drenched head to toe with no spare clothes at hand.

When he woke up later, he didn’t know how long he’d been out. He peered from the hole with the bars that served of a window and was faced with a dark blue sky.

Shit, already?

So Anders packed up his belongings and hastily left the small hovel. His head kept chewing over how the inspection of Darktown went. If they arrested any apostates, if they barged inside his clinic and if the underground resistance was safe.

The street was fairly empty. It was probably past dinner time Anders concluded as he turned to lock the door firmly behind him. The last time he tried to walk the Lowtown streets after dusk didn’t go so well. Still, in the end, it hadn’t gone so well for the bandits who’d jumped him instead, but now he wouldn’t expect another timing rescue to just—

“Anders?” 

The mage stopped on his tracks upon hearing that voice. “Hawke?” he exclaimed when he saw the man in the flesh just a few feet away across the street.

“What are you doing so late outside?” Hawke asked.

Oh great. And now he would have to lie to him again. Of course he could easily tell him about the templar patrol in Darktown but how would he explain the house he just came out from.

“Another house call.” His brain practically knew the dance by now.

Hawke squinted. “Oh really. That answer seems to be on the tip of your tongue an awful lot of time recently. You can try diversity you know.”

Anders' face contorted with surprise. “What?”

“What? You think I’m that dumb?” Hawke peeved with a raised an eyebrow, “I can spot a lame excuse when I hear one but repeating the same bullshit again and again - you really don’t trouble yourself huh? It’s getting pretty dull Anders, I’m sure you’re capable of better.”

A slap to the face would have made more sense than that. Anders was just flabbergasted on the spot. 

“Excuse me? I’m not quite following… why are you talking as if you’re spiting me?”

“What, you want me to just stand here and let you spout your ridiculous, repetitive lies and act as if everything’s fine?” With the quietness around them, anyone by earshot would have heard the sardonic tone spilling from the slowly advancing warrior.

Anders’ face twisted first into surprise then contrite and finally flaring anger. Now clearly Hawke had bumped his head on something. How dare the man talk to him like that after doing everything possible to avoid him for the past several weeks? He had no fucking right to blame him constantly and lash out at him whenever the man had a minute to spare.

These emotional whiplashes had to end now.

“How dare you talk to me like that! Every time you see me, you have to find a reason to blame me or to give me the judgmental look! For Maker’s sake on high what is the bloody problem, Hawke? Why do you even care?”

“Why do I care? Correct me if I’m wrong but I thought we were friends!” 

“Yes I thought that too! Until you started avoiding me completely one shimmering morning,” Anders shot back, mimicking Hawke’s spitefulness.

“Avoi—do you realize that the last time, I asked you to come join us at the Hanged Man? That I even went to see why you didn’t come only to find thin air? And please don’t tell me the house call emergency song. I asked around and someone told me they saw you leaving the clinic with a man.” Hawke flared up with his stormy eyes and windswept hair and Anders’ features froze on tracks.

He couldn’t afford more because Hawke’s sharp eyes seemed to drill holes into his soul and just the idea of Hawke finding about Hayden and _who Hayden was_ felt like a living daymare flashing across his eyes making him slightly stagger backward.

_By the Black Void Anders, control yourself, don’t be so bloody weak or he’ll read you like one of Varric’s tales books._

“So I left with a man so what does that mean? And what’s it to you anyway? Why do you suddenly care for my whereabouts? I thought your great time with Fenris didn’t leave you much time to care about your other _friends_.” Honestly he hadn’t even wanted to bring Fenris’ name into it but it just kind of stemmed out of this tongue inadvertently.

“Fenris? What are you—” But Hawke was brusquely cut off by the nearby noise approaching them.

They both turned in unison to see a shady armed man and a… - was that a chantry sister? - cross the other side of their street. Their voices more discerned now that Hawke and Anders had paused their unforeseen shouting match.

“...I need someone native to the dark places beneath Lowtown. If you claim as much, yes, I will pay.” They heard the sister say.

“I am, I am. Let’s just step into this alley and me and my fellow can have a look at the money on offer,” The bulky man responded her sketchily.

To Anders surprise, the woman obeyed the man blindly, following him into an alley Anders and Hawke knew was a cul-de-sac.

They both shared an inconspicuous knowing look and Hawke sighed. “Dumb people,” He muttered between his teeth.

They were six. But six talentless bandits. Anders saw Hawke withdrew his sword with swiftness, analyzing the situation in a quick second before their leader had time to say “Don’t like interruptions, not when this mark is so promising! Get them.”

Anders froze him on his tracks. Mere centimeters from them. Hawke turned to exchange a look with him.

Gray on amber for a split second. But it was enough to entrance Anders with impetuous determination and then he was gone to charge forward.

The second one dashed so quickly Hawke merely ducked to the side and let him pass. The man tripped losing his balance and Anders froze him mid fall. Hawke meantime punched one man away from him to stab another in the guts. Anders took care of the archer with a well placed lightning bolt. The last one was another rogue; he vanished in a puff of smoke and reappeared behind Hawke as he was pulling his sword away from the thug’s torso.

“Hawke!” Anders screamed and unthinkingly mind blasted the man hard against the wall.

Hawke frowned, partially by the fact that he didn’t saw it coming. He shambled toward the bandit sword in hand and pummeled him hard into unconsciousness.

Anders jogged to him. “You’re hurt?”

“No I’m fine. You?”

Anders’ lips were about to tug upward at that concerned leaden tone if it wasn’t for that chantry sister who materialized before them.

“Well, thank you for your timely intervention. I am… out of my element.” Well. She looked enough collected, Anders noted.

Hawke spared her his detached glance. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

“I had to come here to get the type of person I need. Someone of bloody skill, but also integrity. Perhaps the kind who might leap to someone’s defense.” The woman said evenly as if she wasn’t seconds away from being swindled then killed. “I have a charge who needs passage from the city. If you are willing and capable, meet me at my safehouse nearby.

“I’m no caravan, woman.” Hawke said surly.

Oh Hawke, Anders stifled a small titter. The thing he liked about the warrior was that impetuous bluntness and coolly disinterest he slapped on anyone and everyone regardless of his social title. But the woman whatever her name wasn’t ultimately wrong. Perhaps Hawke didn’t do integrity but everything about him smacked bravado. And for a smidge second Anders found himself hoping he could be around if Hawke ever had an interaction with the Grand Cleric herself. Although Hawke didn’t strike him as the loyal, faithful type who’d have a chance to chitchat with Elthinia after a well made prayer or a confession. The idea of Hawke in a confessional was harder to stifle and made him cover his mouth with his hand to hide his inappropriate smirk.

“I would not presume,” the sister pressed, “but you must need coin. You are in Lowtown after all. Varnell?” Anders couldn’t help his raising eyebrows at the woman’s presumptuousness.

“Shit.” And all of a sudden, a templar cropped up a corner and Anders' senses bristled like cat hair at danger.

Hawke furrowed and squinted menacingly sensing Anders’ nerves on high alert and stood more stoically like a stack of ice between him and the fishy templar.

The not-so-alone woman was still talking nevertheless. “I hope you will come. This matter only grows more urgent with time.” She insisted one last time and passed by Hawke, throwing him one last hopeful look as the templar trekked behind her.

Alas alone in the alley, Anders was finally able to relax. Hawke turned toward him with a frown. “Are you all right?”

He sighed. “Yes. I… panicked for a moment but, I’m good now.”

“As if him and the flimsy toy he carries on his back would have made a difference,” Hawke snorted. And when Anders met his eyes Hawke smirked up cockily. The mage shook his head as if Hawke was a bratty kid.

“So what do you say?”

“I don’t know if it’s the chantry sister or the templar that I can’t seem to trust. But I’m a bit curious on what kind of secretive business a chantry sister could be mixed up with.”

Hawke shambled forward smirking idly. “Curiosity always killed the cat.”

“I never liked that saying you know.”

“So you’re with me?”

“Do you really think I’ll let you go alone?” he sighed shaking his head.

Hawke smiled, eyes crinkling and yes. Anders really missed that impulsive, unconstrained smile and more importantly, directed at him.

They marched toward that safehouse in a breezy companionable silence. As if they weren’t spouting each other’s home truths few minutes ago. And all it took to stop it was a leaping to a chantry sister’s help.

Hawke didn’t announce his presence by knocking. He just opened the door as if entering his own house and stepped inside casually and heedfully.

That templar was first to spot them and brandished his sword at them. Before either Anders or Justice had time to react at the visual threat, Hawke stepped forward and growled, “Drop it or lose the hand.”

The man halted hesitantly at Hawke’s tone and posture and turned a furtive glance at the sister who waived him off.

“I thank you for coming.” She said, “This matter is delicate, and I need someone of… limited notoriety who will not link this to me. It is an escort but I think you will agree, the nature of the party makes this… unique.”

“I’m not doing anything until I know who I’m working for.” Hawke stopped her.

“My name is Sister Petrice. I have assumed a burden of charity. This is my charge,” and pointed with her hand as suddenly, a shadow fell on them.

“Maker’s breath!” Anders exclaimed taking a step back like Hawke did.

Before them, a Qunari. Or at least the closed thing to it from what both Anders and Hawke ever saw so far. Only more… twisted. The sight more brutal. And Anders gasped and cringed loudly.

The woman stepped beside him and kept talking unfazed. Anders darted a look at Hawke beside him and it wasn’t shock that contorted his face like his own. It was more like cold, incomprehensible annoyance.

She said many things. Like how she liked to call him Ketojan, something about bridges, peace and appeasement and serving a better purpose, but Anders was half listening.

Wherever his eyes landed on the towering Qunari, he cringed. His horns were sawn off so neatly as if someone had done it for morbid aesthetic purposes. His eyes and nose were hidden behind a crannied mask allowing barely slits for the vision. His mouth… was sewn.

 _Sewn_ Maker’s breath.

Sewn. In vertical threats with barely enough space between the lips to breathe. The corner between each threat was messily speckled with blood and Anders’ eyes begged to look away from the morbidity of it all.

Next was his neck. Around it was not a chain and not really a collar but some kind of hulking devise that enveloped half his upper body and from where thick, heavy chains hanged.

The wrists were of course clapped in thick iron cuffs and Anders stopped eyeballing the tableau in front of him lest his eyes fell off sore from the aberrant, revolting sight.

“You don’t stumble on something… someone like that,” Hawke was saying meanwhile, clearly wanting some explanations to what was going on.

“For all their blasphemous certainty, the Qunari do have deserters. Those who seek freedom are hunted mercilessly.”

“Tal-Vashoth,” Hawke acknowledged, “They seem to accept the role.”

“Even their rebels conform. Ser Varnell observed one of their bloody exchanges. This poor mage was the only survivor.”

Hawke looked up the sister and the Qunari suspiciously and then said “I’ve had dealings with the Qunari leader. He’d want to know of this.”

Anders was momentary glad for Hawke’s savvy sense and perceptiveness.

“You… have dealt with their leader?” Petrice frowned in surprise, her face tugging into sudden hesitancy that lasted a brief second. “If you have interacted with Qunari, you know how they treat those who leave their heathen order. The Arishok would doom this poor creature. But knowing them is useful. If they challenged you, attacking an ally would only confirm their barbarism. You are still right for the task,” The sister deemed.

“We’re hardly allies.” Anders muttered.

Hawke mulled over what Petrice said for a moment. Finally he said “Will he help? If I thrust him at all…”

Petrice shook her head. “I don’t know his capabilities, of if he can function at all in that collar. But I think he knows we are his only way out.”

“You think?” Hawke repeated unconvinced.

“He has followed every direction, and made no aggressive moves even when taunted. Were I in his place, I could have fled. Qunari or not, I can only assume he wants to be led to freedom.”

Anders eyes shifted incredulously over her. This was a chantry sister who was throwing herself at death to free a mage? A Qunari mage? Yet she seemed to despise the Qun. And what about that better purpose that would serve her by freeing this mage? If life taught Anders something, it was sharpening his sense around people. And that sister’s big lengths about freedom made the bones in his fingers nettle.

“And if you’re wrong I have to deal with it.”

“That is why I went to Lowtown. You are either capable of the discretion and skill that I need or you are not.”

Hawke massaged a line on his forehead, a sign that things were starting to reach his irking saturation. 

He threw the mage beside him a quick look. And it was enough to wrap his mind about the whole situation.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe this,” Hawke sighed to himself.

“I had never seen a Qunari mage before. This is all… crazy.” Anders was following close by, focusing on not stomping on any sludge.

“Tell me about it. The number of crazy shit I’ve never seen till I came to this city.”

“Dragons for instance?” 

“Nah, dragons are the best part!”

Anders snorted. “Of course. Bundles of joy those are,” he mused, shaking his head.

“And now we’re escorting a Qunari mage to be free.”

“Yes. Didn’t think I’ll be doing something so noble on my way back to the clinic.”

“Mm. By the way…” But Hawke stopped mid-sentence _again_  when he noticed that they weren’t alone anymore.

Indeed, three men, all clad in tattered leather armors and pointy daggers approached them. Behind them, Anders pondered at least ten others where lurking around, blocking their path.

The man with the mustache and dank hair spoke up. “Uh, look at this. Undercity’s feared by all, but there’s no shortage of fools with coin who want to test it.” Then his eyes stopped on the Qunari. “What’s this thing, collared like a dog lord’s bitch. You’re some Qunari lover? Maybe I should get rid of you and see who’ll pay the most for your pet.”

The latter growled. Anders was partly glad for it. At least the mage was capable of showing undignity.

The sound had also its effect as one of the man flanking the leader recoiled slightly. “Uh, I don’t think it likes you threatening its master. Maybe we let this one pass.”

Anders was almost thankful. Almost, until Hawke took a step forward, nose to nose with their leader and bluntly menaced, “Try me further, and my charge is the least of your worries.”

That rubbed the thug just the right way. “Stow it! Your kind live fat up-city, then you think you can buy the skill to survive here. I’ll show you different.” And Anders immediately caught the glint of a dagger being sheathed.

The thing was, he didn’t have time to sigh in exasperation and reach for a spell never mind his staff.

The Qunari reacted first. Surprising everyone with a burst of blue energy that crackled in the air and knocked off the mustached man dead on the spot.

“By the Void! Kill it! Kill them all!” one of them said, still crouching on the ground.

Anders couldn’t believe his luck. There he was again, entailed into a fighting trance. Only this time, he didn’t need to do much more than take out his staff before the Qunari’s whole body cracked in gilded light and a fire storm blasted from thin air onto the bandits so recklessly Hawke nearly caught on fire inside the cacophonous spiral of flames if he hadn’t regressed quickly out of the way, stumbling backward on the muddy ground.

It was over before it even begun and Anders scrambled to Hawke’s side helping him up.

“Shit…” Hawke winced, but he caught no damage. He got up and stalked toward the Qunari standing behind his own flames.

“Calm down, Ketojan! Now!” Hawke growled. And to their surprise, the Qunari obeyed with a growl as he died the fire behind him and returned to his normal stance. Hawke frowned at the instant obedience. “Did you react because your lead was threatened?” he asked more calmly.

But the mage only growled again.

Hawke narrowed his eyes. “How much of this is just blind instinct, I wonder.” The Qunari growled once more, tipping his head to the side as if shrugging. Anders wondered if he wanted to say more and was unable to. Clearly he was not as mindless as he was bounded.

“You did what I said. Did I hit the right phrase or something?” Hawke tried again.

The Qunari replied with another sameness growl.

Hawke sighed exasperatedly. “You can’t just stomp your feet twice for yes or something?”

“Hawke…” Anders said solicitously.

“Fine.” Hawke let another weary sigh as he acknowledged Anders. He turned to the other mage with one final stipulation. “Just keep control and remember who is on your side.”

 

***

 

It was when the path started to become rockier that Anders knew they were almost at the mouth of the cave. He was tired. His feet ached from the long unpredictable trek that fell upon them. His shoulders had started to stoop from the satchel he was still carrying ever since leaving the Lowtown house and he thanked the Maker for the nap he had hours ago for he was sure it was already dawn outside. He darted a look at Hawke striding ahead of him and noticed that the man was slightly huffing. They had stopped making idle conversation long ago for the sake of saving their energy and concentrating on better thoughts that kept them marching forward, such as flopping head first on their cots once this was all over.

The sky was dull grey and overcast. The air chilly and dank and salty but it was still fresh air and anything was a heap better than the straitened passage they were hiking up for a while now where a splinter of rock pierced Anders’ left boot and left him shifting his weight on the other feet the rest of the path.

“Looks like it’s going to rain.”  Hawke muttered when they finally reached the light of day.

“Mhm.” Was Anders only reply. He was definitely too tired to grant more.

“Shit.” That one came from Hawke. And it won’t be the first time he cursed to signal a chokepoint. He lifted his head up to where Hawke was looking and his eyes met with a group of Qunari few feet away, seeming to have been camping near the mouth of the cave for quite a while now. One of them spotted them and swiftly got to his feet.

“You will hold, basra vashedan and I claim possession of Saarebas at your heel.” What seemed to be their leader advanced. Anders supposed so since the ox man was the only one of his fellows wearing a helmet that oddly fitted his horns and ridiculously huge shoulders-plates. The rest of them were all bare faced with tribal red paintings all over their bare chests and face. It almost looked like blood and Anders didn’t want to ponder the query further.

“The members of his karataam were killed by Tal-Vashoth, but their disposal leads only here. To Saarebas and you.”

Anders tensed behind Hawke. But the latter kept his calm steely face as he denied the murdering accusations. Anders really needed to ask Hawke how he did it someday.

“Tal-Vashoth killed them. That battle was expected. The survival of Saarebas without his Arvaarad was not. I do not know how you come to hold his leash, but you have no claim in the Qun. He will be returned and this crime cleansed.” The helmeted Qunari claimed grandly.

 _Maker_ , thought Anders. _Don’t tell me this was all for nothing_. Thankfully Hawke stood his ground.

“And if he doesn’t want to go back?”

The Qunari leader stepped forward at once saying “Saarebas! Show that your will remains bound to the Qun.”

Anders eyes widened in shock as their mage _kneeled_ down. It was horrible. The sight of this already chained mage kneeling down mindlessly unable to speak freely like a… like a _tranquil_ made his stomach twist and turn. He flared with indignation.

“He has only followed you because he wants to be led. He is allowed no other purpose.” Said the Qunari heartlessly.

“He is bound and abused, and you want him caged why?” Hawke demanded, but Anders saw that behind the still composed voice, his muscles constricted.

“The power that he has, that all Saarebas have, draws from chaos and demons. They can never be in control.”

“So you fear them.” Concluded Hawke, a tinge of scorn hanging off his tone.

Anders shook his head hopelessly. “Like so many others.”

The Qunari stepped closer to Hawke and up close and Anders couldn’t still make his face behind that barred helmet.  It felt as sickening as talking to a helmeted templar. “We leash Saarebas because they are dangerous and contagious. Not even your templars fully grasp that threat.”

“Contagious—” Anders gasped in utter disbelief. He knew the Qunari were somehow severe and barbarous in their worshiping of their religion but he had never thought the Qun could be so mindless, so vicious and sadistic toward their mages! The treatment of the mages under the white Divine was enough cruel and ruthless and Anders had experienced it firsthand with all the horror he witnessed ever since being dragged to the Circle. But that. That was unduly worse. No human or elf could endure that kind of treatment - of punishment the Qun beset on their mages. He wondered if even Qunari mages survived this treatment on regular basis. Justice himself boiled his blood to take action but Anders held up.

Hawke seemed to be as disgusted by the senseless rant as Anders but he cooled it down under his natural stony face. “Are mages like Anders so dangerous?” He said, turning toward the man in question. “He’s given no reason to fear him yet.” And shrugged insensible to the sudden twisted expression on the Qunari’s face - so distort Anders could see the disgust right through the small gapes of that helmet as he drew back. But it was his next words that ringed the alarm in the two men.

“You… are Saarebas? Bas Saarebas?” the Qunari rounded on his kind that flocked him and shouted some kind of orders none of Hawke or Anders understood, although they both had their little idea and Anders kind of heard the word ‘attack’ through it all. Their leader wheeled on them again, voice like gravel. “You spewed your words at me, like a demon trying to poison my control! Like this mage, the Qun requires your death!”

Hawke as long since unsheathed his sword. And Anders cursed under his breath at his bloody luck. Three fights in a row. Honestly, it was either him or Hawke’s company that was cursed by the Maker. He didn’t see any other rational signification to what had been going on ever since they haphazardly stumbled on each other tonight. It was definitely a moot point they should discuss sometime if they ever prevailed through this day.

But first, the Qunari drew up what looked like to be a golden rod. “Bas Saarebas! You will be no threat to anyone!” he snarled and the rod unleashed a crackle of blue energy that enveloped the Qunari mage and brought him to his hands and knees. A control rod. Anders bristled. What kind of sick morbid… Oh Maker on high. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

Beside him, Hawke’s head snapped down at the mage with a stunned expression. It lasted a fraction of second then his eyes met the blond mage.

“Anders.” The voice was low.

Impending. Anders let a wave of healing aura engulf them.

Bewaring. He mouthed an invisible paralyzing glyph on the front row of Qunari before them.  

Concomitant. Hawke flexed his arms and shoulders at the sudden rush of Haste and Heroic Aura enfolding like wings around his senses. 

The next second the Qunari leader charged with a cry.

Hawke hurtled forward with a loud grunt, haste spell on his side and gutted the leader first. Everything since then rolled in a smoke of cacophonous cries and clanging sounds of steel and metal and the thick crackling of magic in the wind.

 The glyph did his purpose and immobilized a handful of them enough for Hawke to slice his way through them rapidly, which left Anders time to rain a lighting storm on the spared one in the back row.

 Hawke got assaulted by two swords at once and even though both Qunari had shields on, it was easy for the warrior to ward off their weapons thanks to the boosting spells running in his veins. They helped him parry efficiently and concentrate on the quick openings between shield and sword that camouflaged the Qunari’s wide bared torsos.

Through the haze of the battle and dust, a spear cut through the wind toward Anders who was backed in the distance. He didn’t see it but Justice’s senses made him sidestep the trenchant threat by the skin of his teeth. All spirit instinct there. Yet the flesh was still grazed deep enough to draw blood and Anders let a surprised painful wince, staggering backward, hand fleeting to hold his side. 

“Anders!” Hawke turned on instinct upon hearing Anders wounded tone. An instant to check on the mage’s safety was all he needed before he cried and hurtled toward the remaining of the Qunari horde. All archers on top of a small hill. And before Hawke got to their level he dodged a dozen of flying spears that still managed to cut through his skin but wasn’t furious-honed enough to halt him.

Everything was a precise carnage by the end. Hawke whirled his massive sword in a sharp gory arc that cut through a mass of red-painted chests and stomach and cries.

When the last of them fell, Hawke jumped down the sandy knoll and scurried toward Anders instantaneously. “You’re all right? You were touched?”

“No, grazed… drew blood but I’m fine…” Anders etched, giving his wound one last healing touch. “And you—Maker’s breath!” He gasped upon meeting Hawke’s eyes. The man’s face was peppered in cuts and raw gashes.

“It's nothing. Just scratches.” Hawke dismissed in his insufferable doughty way. Anders didn’t heed him and quickly cradled the rugged face in his palms, letting it seep what was left of his mana reserves.

It lasted a minute or two - where their gazes drilled silent bottomless holes into each others - where there was nothing but the salty breeze disheveling their hair and the promise of rain around them - And then Hawke’s face was restored like new again. He didn’t budge though. And maybe, just maybe, Anders fingertips lingered indulgingly on the man’s beard for another unreasonable, unconscious second. Or two…

 But it was him who withdrew back breaking the spell. “Hawke, the mage…”

Hawke blinked and focused his eyes back. He turned abruptly to where the Qunari was still on his hands and knees and strode toward him to pause confusingly. The Qunari titled his head slightly and Hawke followed the strained move to notice the golden rod.

“I don’t know how—” Hawke tried to explain as he picked up the controlling instrument and moving it left and right a bit. Anders worried if there was somehow a special way to activate it or maybe it if only responded to a Qunari’s touch. But then, Hawke flipped the rod randomly some more and suddenly, it unleashed a wave of electric blue energy that emitted a mirror-shattering sound around the kneeling mage. Anders, for the first time that day, sighed in relief.

“I am… unbound. Odd… wrong… but you deserve honor. You are now Basvaarad, worthy of following. I thank your intent, even if it was… wrong.” The Qunari finally spoke out.

Wrong? Anders thought.

The mage started to walk out toward the edge of a cliff, still talking, “I know the will of Arvaarad. I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom… of the Qun.” He was saying.

 And Anders almost choked on his next breath. Hawke seemed to share the same reaction. “I went to all this trouble and you still want to die?”

Trouble didn’t even begin to cover it. Anders wanted to shoot back. They faced a dozen of Qunari Maker damn it. He almost got gutted by a spear. And his left boot was forever wasted.

“I do not want to die. I want to live. By the Qun.”

“Which means dying.” Retorted Hawke.

“Yes.” Said the mage. “Is that hard to grasp?”

Anders was able to see the grating conflict inside the dark haired man’s head. His friend was trying to understand. To comprehend what was suddenly going on. And so was Anders himself.

Hawke frowned and tried again “Could you have returned if I’d let these others live?”

The Qunari offered a detached “No.” And Hawke frowned harder.

“You were doomed from the start?”

“I was outside my karataam. I may be corrupted. I cannot know. How I return is my choice.”

Anders was flabbergasted. “Of all the ridiculous, spineless, mind-controlled, senseless piece of shit arguments I’ve ever heard!”

Too furious to interject civilly.

Too shocked to simmer his indignation.

Too tired to hold onto his traditional forbearance. Hawke turned to look over, a taken aback microexpression on his face from hearing the blond man swear like that for first time.

But the Qunari remained detached and indifferent like a wall. “What comfort has freedom brought you, mage? You would have more if you submitted to the Qun.” He queried him in sameness dullness.

“More? You mean more than those chains and balls you’re wrapped up in already?” the blond mage flared, voice dripping in sardonic indignancy.

Hawke tried to quell the game by suggesting something else, “Others of your kind live outside the Qun. You could join them.” And threw Anders a don’t-make-this-shit-worse-than-it-seem look.

“They are not my kind. I am Qunari. They are not.”

“They have chosen to be free.” Hawke resonated.

“Free? They have refused what they are. I… can’t choose to ‘not be’”

“Oh please.” Anders grumbled between his teeth. This was worst than tranquility he thought alarmingly. Or maybe like self aware tranquility. And even for those who choose to be turned into mindless husks by their own wills didn’t go as far as to wish to die for deeming themselves weak or being outcasted! That was all a nightmarish indoctrination and Anders started to feel the bile of something nasty rising up his throat.

Something sickening and _sad_.

“Arvaarad couldn’t kill me. Perhaps he was wrong about your death, too.” Hawke was still going at it though. Undetterable as always.

“Losing to you does not make him wrong. He spoke the Qun. I have chosen. It is bred in the bone.”

“Existing is not a choice.” Said Hawke. Anders shuffled closer to him. Something made him want to get closer. The anticipation? The need to help? Anything. He just needed to get close to a stronger heat. Because those words spoken by the Qunari mage scared him. It was yet another religion that treated their mages like cattle to be leashed and led and Anders felt every fiber of his core shiver.

In hatering.

“It is the only choice. Asit tal-eb. It us to be.”

In dread.

Fingers twitched.

Anders felt Hawke’s teeth grit under thinned chapped lips. If Anders knew one thing about the man so far was that he was persistent. But what Anders never witnessed up till now was someone resisting him. And doing it with their back facing him.

“I refuse to allow this.” Hawke said vehement.

Surprisingly, the mage turned at that. “If you force choice, it is not choice. Your doubt does not make me wrong. Certainty in comfort. That is the way of Qunari. The way of the Qun.” But everything Anders could hear was a man speaking his last word before the final judgment.

He shook his head. “No…”

“Take this secret thing, Basvaarad.” The Qunari said, handing off something unseen to Hawke. “Remember this day.”

“Wait, no, we can find a solution,” Anders voice erupted precipitately, stepping ahead. But the Qunari had already turned and without warning, raised engulfing flames from the ground.

Hawke caught Anders in time away from the abrupt fire, “NO! No no no!” Anders cried out, jerking and squirming around Hawke’s tight hold as he watched his kin silently falling to his knees, killing himself for the beliefs of those who were supposed to know better.

“Oh no why…” Anders lamented, still fidgeting against Hawke’s chest, still trying to stop the burning Qunari but knowing he was actually trying to stop the scorching sight of slow burning flesh from being nailed into his memory forever.

He cried.

Hawke had never been good at voicing out his feelings, and less so the most grievous ones. But for every unspoken word, he squeezed the blond mage tightly against his chest. Like a physical promise of security.

“Shhh…” he murmured in Anders’ damp hair. Damp. Rain. It had started to fling down unbeknown to them. Thin and quiet as if in reverence.

Well timed as if to cleanse the unjustice and the pain.

“We need to leave before it start pouring harder.” Murmured Hawke softly to a finally quieted Anders.

They didn’t leave for another moment. Anders lost in his own thoughts and Hawke unwilling to detach himself yet for his own personal reasons.

“Let’s leave this place.” It came from Anders. Barely a whisper wrapped up in a sniff, but Hawke could discern the rasp in his throat.

They marched silently toward the mouth of the cave from where they emerged since they didn’t know how far they were from Kirkwall’s gates.

Hawke stayed close to Anders all the way back to Lowtown. Thankfully their way back was undisturbed. The sky was still overcast even thought it was already morning and mercifully the rain let place to dew between their time in the coast and their trek down the underground tunnels.

“Come home with me.” Hawke said when they turned a Lowtown thoroughfare. “We deserve a good night sleep. Or a good day sleep fuck if I know. Gamlen doesn’t stock in the plumpest mattresses but at least he got thick blankets. And an enclosed space. And a hearth.”

“No… I can’t, I really need to go back.” Anders dismissed with a jaded shake of head. He needed to check on his belongings. On the damage done by the templars. Oh maker, it felt like an eternity had passed since he fled his clinic.

Since Hayden had stormed inside to alert him.

Since he woke up in feather-soft white sheets.   

But most of all, all he wanted was to be alone. To just make sure his undying memories were safe and sound and curl up in the warmness of his belongings and healing sanctuary. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone Anders.” Hawke frowned disgruntled.

“Please Hawke. I really want to go back to my place.” Anders pleaded lacking the force behind it. He lifted his weary honey gaze and tried to do the rest of the pleading with his eyes.

Hawke shuffled and huffed. Displeased. But Anders’ amber-honed eyes reduced him to a tight nod in the end. “Fine. But I’m checking up on you later. And I’m walking you down there.”

Frazzled to his last bones, Anders acquiesced. He knew Hawke was tired too. Probably even more so than him since the man engaged all the fighting toe to toe. But Hawke wouldn’t have it. And letting the man have his way was better than going for another preposterous argument like the one they were deeply engaged in before the queen of madness choose them as her protagonists for her nightime sideshow.

“Thank you Hawke. For everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. What you… tried to do… someone else wouldn’t have probably cared as much as you had.”

“Tch. What good did it do. Stupid… fucked up shit. And I have a few well chosen words for that wench by the way. I’ll go find her after I rest or else I won’t be taken responsible for my actions. ”

Anders smiled wearingly.

“So… I’ll check on you later on. You’ll be alright?”

“Yes.”

No. I won’t be alright. He truly meant. Things aren’t alright. They are brutal and merciless and this can’t go on, “Sleep well Hawke.”

“You too.” Hawke replied smiling. It was a dim smile but nonetheless honest and there and Anders would hold on to it for what was to come.

 

***

 

You see, people use lies constantly.

They lie to their lovers about the pages they haven’t really read.

To their suspicious friends about their secret relationships.

Others lie about how much they already know about their secretive friends.

And then there are the fatal lies. More wax poetic, spoken and sung through the voice of dominion that plays with the inner minds.   

Why do we use lies?

Well… for the simple reason that it’s a useful tool that helps each one achieve his personal ends…


	17. The calculating minds

It is interesting to notice how being in love can bring out the worst in people.

They might become calculating. Hostile. And sometimes, simply indifferent to each other.

But in the beginning, when love is still a promise, people will always try to bring their best to the table…

 

***

 

Anders ended up hitting himself with a sleeping spell to be able to rest at least enough before another busy day rolled on him. He kept the door closed, trusting Justice to shake him up from his slumber if anyone knocked.

The Maker must have taken pity on him; because no one had needed his help for at least one merciful hour. There had been one person who turned up when Anders had tried to close his eyes and it only been Cricket; wanting to check on him after what happened the day before.

In the end the templars didn’t find his clinic. They didn’t reach that far up in Darktown, Cricket had supplied.

After all, Darktown was surprisingly twice Lowtown’s superficial and was known to be like maze for any unfortunate and unaccustomed souls that tried to mender it. Disappearances happened frequently and if you were lucky enough, someone might even notice your absence…

They did rounds and counted the refugees. They were five. All helmeted. Cricket snickered it was more to cover their unaccustomed noses than for scaring purpose. He reassured Anders he didn’t tell anyone about the templar spy. That was how he called him. In the young boy’s little head, the man was a friend spy put in the Gallows for emergencies like that.

Cricket offered to stay for the rest of the morning, keeping the clinic open while Anders rested in the back. He had restored a bit of sleep before the first patient rolled up. Mercifully, throughout the whole morning, no one came by in an aggravating state and the few patients that were hanging around had taken but a little strength and mana out of him.

It gave him time to meditate and go about the day before. From his awakening in the templar’s bed to that scorching sight that was forever burnt in his mind. The Qunari had rather died than living outside the same people that doomed him. That tortured him. Brainwashed him from the start with sacred verses to better collar and control him.

And why? Because they feared them? Because they were contagious? How in Black Void magic could even be contagious!?  How can a whole kind go on thinking that way? The only thing contagious was those lies fed up to them.

No. The Qunari mage was wrong. Anders fetched a quill and an empty parchment. It was not bred in the bone. What were bred in the bones were the lies twisted and embellished to be served on the silver plate called religion. Anders could not speak for the Qun precisely because he only knew so little about it. But he knew the specifics of the Andrastian religion - being raised under the chant of light himself. He knew how the chantry propaganda doomed them all for the alleged mistakes of a few magisters centuries ago.

  _The fear of the righteous ones who are succeeding in our system rule us all. Everything is ruled by the sacred parole of the religion. A religion that should have mirrored the voice of the bride of the Maker herself. But she is not between us anymore. And the fear of what she fought against stayed bred in our bones for centuries on._

_Magic should serve men and not rule over them. But what happens if the man ends up ruling over magic? Isn’t it magic a Maker’s gift himself?  Is it all a battle for mastery? Time have changed and so did the words of Andraste. Twisted to suit those faithful. Those fearful._

_And now the man created the golden words and the physical weapon: the true believers as they call themselves; the soldiers with holy swords touched by the holy fire that no longer exists but in the figment of their imagination and conceit; vowing to swipe the earth from those bestowed the Maker’s gift._

_And now corruption has seeped through the very foundations of their plan._

_And now, it’s the mages’ turn to be masterized._

_It is worse than slavery. Yes. Worse than what Andraste gave her life for. Or did we forget what we have learnt from the past._

_Or will the mages going to need a new savior to rise from her ashes to rewrite them a different version of history?_

_And the masse is yet unaware of what happens behind those prison walls._

_We need to open our eyes and realize our errs. See how this brother, sister, friend, lover, mother, father, stranger, lives inside theses walls we’ve put them in, in the name of Andraste. Inside these walls where the piercing end of a sword runs faster than peace and understatement. Where eyes in every shadow are waiting, prying for a chance to be used and to teach a lesson._

_No. It is not the mercy of the Maker that is bred in our bones and the bones of our children anymore. For if you think for yourself, you will see._

_It is the fear. Not even your fear. The fear of the ones that guide us by their hands beset in gold._

_Unroot that seed ingrained in you and you shall see_

_That_ _it is under the grand façade that the truth loves to hide_.

Anders’ breath caught when he pieced together the last words. The quill in his fingers sweated from the intensity of what it just wrote. The words and their implications collided and he watched them blaze into life as they stared back with the promise of a change.

They were ready, even though incomplete. Anders was ready too.

Every fiber of his being thrummed with the need of more. He took a swig of water to quench his dried throat and set to continue while his mind still railed. He dripped the quill in the inkpot. Lost in feverish thoughts, he didn’t notice the head-popping by his door.

“Ah, Ser Anders…”

“Just Anders Cricket.” He corrected with a soft smile as he turned to acknowledge the teen.

The young face scrunched into something conspiring and hushed, “It’s the templar spy.”

Anders frowned and stood up.

_Hayden?_

The man was standing in the middle of the clinic, in an open deep green cloak that hid the usual Darktown special attire, eyes flitting everywhere around the place until they fell on the mean object of his visit. And the glint of concern vanished instantly like a swipe of wind replaced by something close to sureness and reassurance. He strode toward him in quick swift steps and only stopped when that tinge of gray gold in the middle of those green pools was at Anders’ scope of vision.

“Thank the Maker you’re alright.” It came in a mixture of sigh and hushed tone.

Anders threw a surveyed look around them. Some people were filling his cots either in sleep or simply resting. “Um, Cricket,”

The boy was in a deep Hayden-scrutiny when he jerked to attention. “Here, can you buy me a pouch of elfroot? And pick up some fruits of your choice with the change.” And he thrust kindly the coopers into the small palm.

When the boy got shooed out, Anders directed the man to the back. They were in broad daylight after all and Hayden tended to be slightly impulsive in his shows of affection.

It was so odd to see the man again after everything that happened yesterday.

Those greens eyes rushing to him to warn him away. Clasping his hand in his and thrusting the key of his Lowtown house to stay hidden - begging him to stay safe.

And the memory of how that day had started.

Anders could still smell the strawberry leaden scones and crisp woodsy scent of body lotion wafting in the back of his head like a blanket around his memory.

“Thank you.” Was all he choked out at the moment.

Green lands regarded him quizzically for a second.

“For what you did yesterday. Warning me of the templars’ arrival. It’s… I… I never thought…” the words got stuck in the threshold of his throat. Everything went too fast. And turned into a nightmare too brutally.

“The only thing that matters now is that you’re all right.” The other man shook his head. “I wanted to check on you but the templars had left later than planned and I got caught up… You stayed in the house right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” A happy word. Oblivious to what Anders went through after. The sunshiny smile was all it took to brighten the hole in the wall that served Anders of a personal space and the mage felt it soak into his skin up to his weary bones.

And it felt good. His bones wanted to show their gratitude.

Until Hayden plunged his hand inside his cloak and withdrew out something from it. Papers. Rolled neatly in a strip of elastic rubber. “Here.”  

Anders’ heart leaped faster than his blinking eyes when he recognized his sheets. “So you read it—I mean, you really finished reading it?”

Hayden chuckled low and smoky, “Yes, I told you I’ve read it. And I also made a copy of it. Since I supposed you don’t have copies and you’d want it back.”

“Really?”

“Well yes. Let’s say to keep a little souvenir.” The man smiled, showing off his heartbreaking dimples.

Anders was reduced to one sensory. Looking. His lips slightly parted in sheer astonishment. For a minute at least, he did just that.

“Hey Gorgeous? Are you still with me?” Hayden tilted his head in a bemused manner.

“Yes. Uh.” Maker, he just called him what? “Yes. Um. All right. It’s just…” Andraste’s flaming knickers was he stammering?  But stammering only bespoke what was on the surface. Inside it felt as if he’s whole body was suddenly too tight for him. After all, Hayden was now the first to read the first pieces of his manifesto.

And he didn’t just read it for Maker’s sake. He also made a copy of the few ten pages he dared to share with this stranger.

It just meant a lot for Anders.

And Hayden in all that?

Hayden was just smiling, beatific all along.

“It is just that you’re the first one to read it and to… well you probably guess I’d be interested in your point of view now.”

“I do guess that. And I look forward to it.” The man said airily and sidled closer, arms winging around the mage’s waist, tugging him chest to chest and into their first kiss of the day.

Slow and sensual and too dangerously close to _routinely_ now.  

They parted simultaneously, wet lips and rosy cheeks. “I got something for you.”

Anders slowly pulled himself out of the white pleasurable space his mind recoiled to while he was kissing and only managed a “Hn?”

Hayden took out something that fitted in the palm of his hand. It caught all the light around them that Anders’ eyes were automatically drawn as they narrowed to see what the templar pulled out of his pocket.

It was a pendant. Like a miniature crystal ball or a sphere, crystal clear and see-through with a thin chain bail. Hayden brought it to eye level between them - the pendant dangling from a thin sterling silverite chain - and suddenly, Anders’ eyes widened, mesmerized.

Inside - it was snowing. Indolent Snowflakes falling out of nowhere on a white layer of snow at the hollow of the ball. It looked like a far away snowy landscape; quiet and foreign.

Hayden’s voice broke into the gilded spell. “the merchant told me it’s called ‘ _The never-ending winter_ ’ He said it’s impregnated with some kind of spell that keeps it snowing like that endlessly. Quite beautiful isn’t it?”

“It’s… breathtaking. I’ve never seen something like this before!” Anders said in rapt admiration, eyes captured by the mystical sight. 

“I know. When I saw it I just instantly thought of you.”

Anders eyes fluttered up to meet his. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It looked so foreign and mysterious; it made me think of the Anderfels actually. Of you.”

Anders flustered in surprise. “How would you know such a thing, you’ve never been there.” his voice scratched out around the knot forming in his throat.

“Well I do know it’s very snowy, it’s a little cliché I give it to you, but you tell me then. Since you’re an _ander_.” Hayden replied with a winning grin.

Anders’ eyebrows did a little swooping up. “Uh.” He couldn’t help the chocked little sound - partly laugh and partly umbrage - escaping his lips. Another peek at the pendant made his heart flutter ever so slightly in recollection.

The only answer it provided him was quiet, mute snowflakes falling from thin air and descending in the unchangeable blanket of snow that somehow, never grew thicker.

Just like it used to do back home.

 The memory of laughter and shrieks and giggles and flying snowballs and warm stew and spun gold hair by the stove humming…

He didn’t notice the hand that unconsciously flew up to his wrung throat, rubbing the unusual anxiety back from where it emerged when he said “You’re right. It does look somehow the same as that snowy forsaken land.”

But his voice was laced with unwelcomed forlornness and Maker damn him that humming wouldn’t stop now…

“I know how hard it is to be away from your home. So that’s why I thought you might like this…”

“Why? You thought I might forget my origins?” The vexed tone that escaped him wasn't on purpose though.

“No, but I just thought… somehow it would make you feel close your homeland. You are more than a mere ander, and if you wouldn’t tell us your real name, then Anders is who you are now and this… this will just… here,” the man decided to abandon the senseless rambling and reached out to lock the thin chain around Anders’ pale neck. The small crystal ball came dangling under his collarbones happy and home and Hayden picked it between his thumb and index one last time,

 “… I think this beautiful magical thing will just suit no one else but you.”

He couldn’t feel the crystal against his skin but he felt its tremendous meaning drilling a hole deep inside his heart, finding a warm seated place inside of it and resting there uninvited but welcomed.

He liked it. He liked it very much and it showed explicitly in the way the amber in his eyes sparkled like new year’s champagne.

“Thank you.”

“I’m just glad you like it. Looks good on you.” The man waved off with a toothed smile. “I’ll have to go now. But maybe we can see each other later tonight? You know to discuss… things?”

Anders’ mind reeled back to the conversation in the tub. About future talks and more enlightenment on why Hayden chose to become a templar. “Um, yes, all right…” Right. They can see each other again. For the good cause. Discuss his manifesto, Anders’ head flailed. Trying to convince Justice _and_ himself in the same time.

 “Ah, Hayden?”

“Yes?” Hayden pulled Anders for one last kiss.

 “I like it. The pendant. You shouldn’t have, but I like it very much.” He could do it. He could thank someone for such a meaningful gift, even if that someone happened to be a templar right?

“’Was my pleasure…” the man drawled in between kisses.

It felt good. The man truly felt good. And Justice couldn’t do anything about that feeling for he couldn’t assess and comprehend it. He only knew what was just and wrong and knew this was wrong and that a part of Anders also thought it was a dangerous misdeed; considering what he was set to accomplish for a whole kind.

You didn’t play with a fire you attended to extinguish.

So he kept disapproving and warning and pulling on every memory reclined in the back of Anders’ mind on why he should - must despise and loath the man in front of him instead.   

If the man cared so much for the safety of a mage, why was he living by an Order that went against everything he was when around Anders?

_IT’S A RUSE._

_A ruse?_  

_HE WILL USE YOU LIKE THAT TEMPLAR ROLAN_

_NO!_

_IT IS A LURE. LET ME FINISH HIM. I WON’T LET ANOTHER TEMPLAR HARM YOU._

But—but… Hayden asked him not to worry. They were on the right path. Perhaps his manifesto changed his vision of things? Perhaps it showed him more of a side he thought he knew? They would discuss it all further and Hayden would listen politely like he always did and Anders would try to win him to his plight _._

_I DON’T TRUST HIM. I DON’T._

Anders watched as the man exited his clinic, long cloak flapping behind his broad stride like a waving-goodbye hand.  

_Please. I… I want to give him a chance. Just him. Just for him._

He refilled with new hope and trepidation. What he didn’t see was as Hayden brushed past another dark haired man down his staircase.

 

***

   

It all felt like time had slowed on its tracks and for the scarcest seconds, rolled in slow motion.

He only caught a rapid profile of the man that walked past him, who was too busy running a thumb over his moist lips and smirking satisfactory to himself to notice the mere guy walking past from him.

His dark green cloak had a hood but the man was unhooded. A flash of neck-long rich chestnut hair hiding half his profile. A two-handed sword strapped against the long coat.

Hawke paused in the stairs scowling at his back until the back was out of sight.  Something inside him stirred, and though he didn’t fully see the man’s features he couldn’t shake the odd feeling of déjà vu that clicked instantly.

Tall and handsome with a dark hooded cloak was how Tomwise described the man whom he saw the healer of Darktown leaving with that night Anders was supposed to join them at the Hanged Man.

The warrior let what had just happened marine in his head for a minute.

You see, Hawke had come to see Anders for a purpose. But after what he’d just witnessed and the shifty feeling bubbling inside his stomach, he strode the rest of the stairs with a whole new plan already taking shape in his head…

 

***

 

“Hawke!” Anders exclaimed before the brain fully acknowledged what was happening. He was still standing where Hayden had left him and still gazing at the door.

And when he finally assessed the situation, a cool dread washed over him. If Hawke was here just when Hayden had just left, it meant they ineluctably walked past each other. Probably met eyes. Probably Hayden throwing a hateful look, which by consequence would mean Hawke would glare back, and chances were Hawke would demand why he was glaring like that and Hayden would presumably take the chance to prove his dominance or strength or whatever the fuck went in their brawn-honed heads…

But no. No. Anders tried to snap back from his dreadful daydream. If something like that had occurred, he would hear the racket by his doors. No, Hawke looked like ordinary. Cool and posed, and every bit dashing but that was not the point.

“Hey, were you busy?”

“No no come in!” Anders’ voice flailed treacherously. He did not really know why but subconsciously, he made a quick motion of rubbing his chest and hiding the pendant behind his tunic before Hawke closed the distance.

Hawke asked, “So did you catch up on some sleep after all?”

“Yes. I was lucky. No one barged in with a life or death threat or dragging an unconscious body with him.” Anders said with a small smile.

Hawke nodded once, “Good. I went to find our sister in Lowtown,”

“So?”

“She knew they were there and she didn’t care one whit about the mage. She went on about how the chantry must see how the Qunari are cruel even toward their kind and other crap chantry-related. I swear I was two inch away from punching the irritation out of her…”

“I can’t believe it. The chantry…” Anders frowned, face crinkling in disgust, “went too far.”

“I think that conniving shrew was alone on this one. Her and her pet templar of course.”

“And they let you go after all?”

Hawke responded with an ungraceful scoff, “Are you serious? It was me who showed enough _mercy_ to let them scarce.”

Anders turned to face the large hole in the wall to his right that served for a window. A window with no windowpanes that let in light, wind, cold, rain, your pick. “This is unbelievable… how people can be so… so soulless.”

Muted heavy steps behind him approached and Anders felt the shadow of the other man loom from behind him. Hawke stayed quiet for a minute, just standing there - behind Anders - looking outside the large hole in the wall too and ending up looking at nothing but fog, grey smoke and brick-crumbling underground walls. “Don’t tell me you just realized this.” He said companionably with a hint of amusement.

Anders’ shoulders slumped. He sighed. “No… unfortunately no. But this city…” Anders circled his arms around himself to suppress a shiver that wasn’t due to the weather alone, “Seems to be the heart of everything that’s ruthless.”

Hawke sighed. And Anders felt broad hands, warm and gloved cover his slouched shoulders. They gave an experimental squeeze and then tugged softly backward, correcting Anders’ stance and making him stand squarely.

“We’ll survive.”

Survive. Was it what they’ve been reduced to in this city? When he thought about it, Anders was really merely surviving up till now. The only thing that mattered was to not starve to death and not be caught by the templars. How was that a living?

Oh it was not like Anders had much of living outside Kirkwall after all. A life of running away. A hiatus in his Grey Warden days, then up to go again running for his life after what happened with Rolan, Justice and the other templars.

Yes. Hawke had found the perfect word that epitomized his whole pitiful joke of a living. Survival.

But why? Why must he survive? Didn’t he deserve more than a basic instinct? Did the Maker doomed him from the start? Was he made to be the prey in the hunt? But Hawke was also surviving now, right? Ever since he arrived in Kirkwall he did nothing but run sleazy errands and work for skanky people to payback his ticket in the city and scrape a living for the rest of his family. He was in a surviving mode too.

But the difference was that Hawke lifted himself up the food chain. He earned his place, made a name for himself, forced the hand of his fortune and by that, he more often than not just beat the fortune to completion. He stopped by his own hands his days of servitude. And he did it with a poignant, resolute fist. Anders thought he should really learn from him. He should grab his own fortune and rough it up a bit. Make it go the way he wanted and not just sit in his rat-hole and wait.

No he wasn’t really doing that either. Anders shook the repressive thought away. It’s wasn’t true. He was doing things. The only difference was that what he did… was considerate illegal and dangerous. He planned it in secretive places and worked it in the dark. That was the real difference between him and Hawke.

They were both working to change their fortune; only some had the chance to do it in broad daylight and others… in the darkness of the night, under the constant threat of templars and tranquility looming at every corner - at any moment.

“Right.”

Hawke’s deep voice was still too close to his ear as he went on, “… Um, I also came to talk to you about something else.” Anders twisted his head to look up at him.

“Hm?”

“It’s about the expedition. Remember?”

The mage's features softened. He shook his head, “How could I forget.” And Hawke smiled continuing, “So I came to tell you that tomorrow… is the big day.”

Anders eyebrows swooped up. “Really? I mean, already?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great…” Anders really meant it. Despite everything, Hawke had worked tooth and nail for that plan. It was his ray of hope for a better life… if we could call roaming willingly the ‘Deep Roads’ a ray of hope…

Hawke had a shifty expression that passed over his features, and which he couldn’t edit quite as fast. “Yes… and there is also a change of plan…”

That got Anders attention. Hawke could see it the way his eyes narrowed just slightly, expectantly.

“I want you with me.”

Anders’ head did a minuscule jerk and tilt backward. He surveyed his friend’s face with his still expectant relaxed eyes for another second.

“Hawke… what?” he tried to smile sensing the drop of a joke but even his twitchy smile was skeptical.

“I did a lot of thinking and I thought it’s for the best if you came with us.” Hawke tried more softly.

Anders’ mouth pulled into an incredulous tight smile. The kind you made when someone said an embarrassing joke around the wrong crowd. He looked left and right and tuned low his voice as if about to share an unpleasant secret. “Hawke, we discussed this, don’t you remember? I told you why I don’t want to go back there.” and punctuated with an incredulous look that said _‘Don’t tell me you forgot’_ because that night, he shared meaningful bits of himself with the man and that would just... hurt.

It had been harder to talk about that year spent alone in the dark than about the horrors he saw on his trip down the Deep Roads with the Warden Commander and the Wardens. But against his best judgment, Hawke had insisted since he also shared stories about how they were once five instead of three in the family. So he shared with him how those two experiences gave him now anxiety attacks when he was in a secluded dark space.

“I do remember but… after a long thinking I thought it’s for everyone’s the best sake…”

“Hawke I told you why I don’t want to come!” Anders interjected with harsh whisper. “The Deep Roads gives me anxiety attacks, did you forget?”

“No I hadn’t I promise but listen to me: I’d feel better about it if you were with us - I mean you’re a healer _and_ a Grey Warden! We’ll need you more than anyone in there.”

“Oh I know I’m such a funny convenient package! Do you even care about my own issues?” Anders couldn’t help the hurtful look and tone. He thought Hawke understood.

“I care!” Hawke fervently snapped. “ _I care_ , that’s why I want you with me. I don’t know how much we’ll be gone and… I want to know you will be safe. What if templars get to you while I’m gone? What if something happened to you?”

Anders scowled incredulously, taken aback. Was he really understanding things the way they should be? He opened his mouth and snapped it at once. He tried again and ended up saying hot air so he closed it again. He ended up looking down. “What does that mean…?”

“It means I won’t risk it.” Hawke shot as if he had had that response ready on the tip of his tongue. “It means I want you beside me in this. Together. What happened yesterday made me realize something. That the two of us are fucking badass.” Anders looked up surprised by the colorful statement and was even more surprised to see Hawke plainly grinning. Anders ended up making a face as he tried to suppress his own smile.

“You didn’t burn me once! I'm always used to duck, weave and look behind my back whenever I was fighting with Bethany. It’s a nice change.”

Anders’ smile twitched as he tried to suppress the somersault his heart did at the compliment. It had always been a little weakness when someone flattered his magic skills. He’d want to buy the person a drink if they praised his gift or casting abilities. Funnily so, that've been the ultimate trigger that ended with one naked blond body in Nathaniel Howe’s bed.   

He positively blushed.

“I hadn’t used fire Hawke.” Anders said with a humble chuckle.

“Bolt me then? Freeze me? Turned me into a pile of rocks? Point is I will feel safe with you with me. And my mind will be at peace too. And don’t be mistaken,” Hawke voice changed into a serious, almost menacing rumble, “I will be with beside you. Whenever you need. I won’t let anything happen to you there before it goes through me first. You trust me on that right?”

And how could Anders not. For Maker’s sake they battled a horde of Qunari all on their own. And beside that split second of inattention, they ended up pretty fine. And besides, Hawke didn’t go without having his last word on that spear-incident matter.

Anders bit his lip. “Yes I do.”

Hawke advanced and put a hand on the mage’s shoulder. Anders met his intense gaze and felt his own resolve weaken.

Those eyes will be his undoing, Anders mumbled inwardly. “So who… who’s going already?” He half shrugged. He already knew. The group had been decided long ago after all. And that was his other problem.

“Varric of course and Isabela.”

That was strange. Isabela wasn’t part of it before. “So… you’re taking off Bethany?”

“Yeah.”

Anders gave him a dubious look, “You don’t want her safely with you too?”

“I can only take two people with me. Bartrand is already not so hot about the whole new party joining the feast. And about that, I trust Aveline to take care of her in my absence. They spent a lot of time together when we first came here. I know she won’t ever let something happen to her and she’s in a good position to protect her already.”

“Of course. We can’t say that much about me.” Anders sniped wryly. Aveline was just not his number one fan of him. And that was a good polite way of putting it, so far.

“Yes well, as long as she stays _quiet_ and protects my sister, she’s in the clear.” Hawke commented.

“You… and you weren’t taking Fenris with you on the first plan?” Anders ventured subtly.

“Yes. That changed too.” Was Hawke simple and quite _too_ simple reply.

Anders wondered if it had something to do with the row that had been suspended last night. He also wondered where they stood in that regard. Were they going to discuss it eventually or would they have to pretend that nothing had happened? Regardless, they seemed to be on safe waters now if Hawke was even asking him to join his expedition at last minute.

That said, the idea of Hawke taking away Fenris just for him made his stomach prickle in a good way.

Anders gave one last exasperated sigh. “I hate the blighted Deep Roads…”

“I know but I hate the thought of returning to find you shipped to the Gallows more.”

“Hawke I survived a year without you, you know.”

“We never know, but point taken. So? You’ll come with me? And it’s not like I’ll abandon you down there. I’ll be with you. I promise.”

Anders wondered briefly what would happen if the man knew about the Darktown inspection yesterday. Obviously the man would have asked about it if he’d been informed, but that didn’t seem to be the case, so Hawke’s timely worry was really purely genuine.

Could he really sacrifice it? The taint, the nightmares, the anxiety attacks - for Hawke? And in the same time, what if something happened to _Hawke_ down there? What if he got badly injured and nobody knew how to help him? What if he got ambushed by darkspawn? He would never forgive himself. That was the answer.

He can sense the darkspawn and his skills would be not just needed but a must basic necessity.

While he finally agreed to the larger man’s petulancy, Anders wondered deep inside if that wasn’t the beginning of many future sacrifices made in Hawke’s sake.

 

***

  

Anders was sitting on one of cots with a bloodless sheet. The crystal of his pendant rolling between his fingers was catching the light he created on the tip of his staff beside him, making it glimmer and all the more beautiful.

The mage wasn’t paying attention to the magic snow that kept falling endlessly. He was more like worrying the small ball between his fingertips while pondering deeply, lost in thoughts.

He was supposed to meet Hayden tonight.

To discuss the templar situation more profoundly. To talk about his manifesto.

He was truly looking forward to it and expecting so much from the outcome of that discussion, because nothing excited him more than to have a long sincere and promising conversation about his cause… with someone willing to listen.

Justice was still seething about his reckless and undignified actions, but Anders wouldn’t just bring himself to let it go yet. He could feel the man’s swaying. Wavering. Unstable. He wasn’t a close-minded, bigoted prick yet. And Anders could see the hope of something far better for him. It was there, caged deep inside those intense greens orbs; and after what he’d done for Anders, the latter had no hesitancy left.

He would switch the man to his side.

 _It was just too much a waste to lose such a competent man like that._. And he was positively not alluding to the man’s outward virtues.

Unfortunately for all his schemes, Anders knew they wouldn’t come true tonight as he fully anticipated, and it made him feel all kind of… downhearted. What if tonight he could convince Hayden to change and quit the Order?

Light reflected in the opaque crystal and caught his eye. He gazed at the pendant still toying between his fingers. Endless snowflakes inside pellucid glass.

He lifted it to eye level - thin silverite chain dangling off his neck - to stare better at the picture inside. He didn’t have time to do it properly ever since Hayden left. The feelings it stirred in his chest when Hayden explained what it represented were too strong to be contemplated back then. But now, he was alone. He could reopen that door safely.

A gulp.

Hayden’s words transpierced his mind almost instantly. 

_“I know how hard it is to be away from your home.”_

Was he only assuming or was he really speaking out of personal experience? After all, Anders knew now that Hayden isn’t a Marcher. He was from Orlais. And only lived here for four years now. Did he miss his home? Was that what he meant? Anders was too caught up in the emotion to really ask back then.

 No, the truth was Anders never cared to ask. And that was so strange because Hayden loved to know things about him. So why did he never cared? Or perhaps the right word was ‘dared’? Because surprisingly so, he was feeling a prickling need to know more.

He lost himself in the ethereal beauty inside the ball of crystal as he came to wonder. To truly ask himself some questions he should be asking at this state. 

Whenever Hayden was in front of him… Anders must be true to himself. He was lost. He left him with this ball of emotions and feelings, contradicting and colliding and smashing in his guts, wanting out and in the same time scared to egress and expulse out.

What did this all meant? And for a fraction of second Anders asked himself the veritable question that lurked all that time in the far back of his mind.

The question swam leisurely in his inner-conscience.

Again, just a fraction of second though. Not enough time to provide an answer.

Because it was more complicated than just a yes or no, Anders reasoned deeply. 

The blond mage sighed loudly, shoulders slumping. What was he doing? How did things ever come to this? And what about Hawke in all this charade.

Justice told him it was his fault for letting it escalate and cascade so drastically. But then Justice had also kept silence during the sex. Justice _pressed_ him into climax just to _feel_ the lyrium in Hayden’s fluids.

Anders quivered at that memory. It was perverse and wrong and so dark. The way Justice urged him into such a lecherous act. He knew Justice only moved by instinct. He didn’t actually care in partaking in the sex. He didn’t even condone it. In fact he was livid from it. But he was just in a trance. He felt a shard of the fade and he reached for it. Even if that meant _milking it_ out of the other’s man cock. Or _licking it off the man’s stomach._

Anders stopped right there; feeling his cheeks flaring up with heat. Justice enclosed himself on those thoughts, and Anders wondered if he felt guilty for wanting something out of his enemy, and if that was the reason he stayed mute and detached in the tub and through the rest of that morning.

Yes. Things were definitely more complicated than a yes or no.

He focused back on the pendant. On the falling snow. But it gave him no answer. No help unfolding his feelings. It only hummed him a long forgotten melody. So he curled into its comfort and let it cradle him into peaceful whiteness for a short while…

“Hey there.” the familiar greeting reverberated inside Anders clinic. It surprised Anders how he became used to it. He didn’t jolt or jerk or snap like he used to. He merely stirred out of his reverie, turning his head to see the templar entering his empty sanctuary with his habitual dazzling smile and affable nature.

“Hey.” Anders said back with a slight thickness.

Hayden didn’t catch up on the tone and strolled inside with a small bag in his hand. “So since I ended my shift earlier and it’s still early for you to close, I decided to buy us a little snack.” He said, waving the happy bag before him for Anders to see.

“There is this bakehouse in Hightown; they make the sweetest crumpets ever! And well, even though it was already late and they were closing, the good lady there made me a few just because I’m a regular. But you know what, she couldn’t fool me, I know she just couldn’t resist this handsome rugged face!” Hayden bragged with a toothed grin, pointing with both hands at his indeed more than handsome face.

And Anders couldn’t help but shake his head like Hayden was bratty kid. The latter sat beside him, depositing the bag in Anders’ lap. “And also because I discovered you have a sweet tooth.” The man said as he leaned to capture Anders’ lips with his.

They made out for a minute, the bottom of the bag still hot and waiting in Anders’ lap, Anders wondering how was it possible with the chill outside. Hayden must have folded it inside his cloak. But all crumpets thoughts were put aside when Hayden’s tongue probed inside his mouth, turning the gentle kiss into something no kid should be witnessing.

“Huh, Hay—Hayden…” Anders tried in between sloppy tongue rolls and throat strokes. “Hayden wait,”

“Don’t worry, the door’s shut and we’re alone. We can enjoy ourselves until we had to leave huh?” the templar said between kisses.

“No, no um. I need to tell you something.” Anders croaked out and that made Hayden extract himself off the blond man. He sat back and waited.

“I can’t go back with you tonight. There was a last minute change of plan and… I’m going with Hawke on his expedition tomorrow.”

Hayden’s eyes narrowed in animosity at the mention of Hawke’s name first. Then tilted his head apprehensively. “An… an expedition to where?”

Anders inhaled and straightened his back. “To the Deep Roads.”

Hayden didn’t budge. His eyes were still fixed on Anders’ but his lips slightly parted. Anders tried to hold his gaze as determinably as possible.

Hayden’s voice finally cracked into an incredulous chuckle. “Are you kidding me?”

Anders stayed silent and Hayden snapped at once, “Oh of course, you’re not kidding. You’re never kidding. Anders you must not be serious, why would you go there? Why is he dragging you in there?”

“I—I need to go because I’m a Grey Warden in case you forgot! And a healer! He just needs me; if… if I refuse and something happens to him I—I don’t think I would forgive myself…”

Hayden explicitly gritted his teeth and bolted up. He paced irritably in front of Anders’ still sitting form, not intimidated by Anders’ self-sacrificing bravado speech. “And—and why does he even want to go there anyway?!” the brown haired man fumed.

Anders shifted a little, the bag of not-so-hot-crumpets-anymore shifting in his lap with him. “Well… Hawke’s been planning this ever since he stopped paying his year of servitude to… well that doesn’t matter anymore, and well… they’ve been living on top of each others in their uncle’s hovel ever since they came to Kirkwall and Hawke needs enough money to purchase back his mother’s estate. The dwarves are thinking there is a undiscovered thaig full of ancient wealth… and it is Hawke’s only chance to pull his family off the slums.”

The mage didn’t break eye contact as he genuinely explained and kept watching as the man before him turned from curious to stunned to appalled. He had stopped his pacing and stood with a baffled expression twitching his chiseled features.

Finally he let out very slowly as if making sure he heard it right, “You mean, he’s endangering your life because of his greed for coin?”

“What? No!” Anders burst, startled by the way Hayden pieced it all together. The blond man tried, going through long lengths to make Hawke stand out as a good, empathic man, looking for his family’s good will, pulling out the year of servitude card. Didn’t he hear the year of servitude part? But then in one arrow-flying line, Hayden made Hawke sound like a neat asshole.

“Then what?! He’s dragging you with him to the bloody Deep Roads right after a _blight_ ; we don’t even know how many darkspawn went crawling back there and you tell me this is all for a lost thaig _somewhere_ that could make him _rich_?! Because that’s exactly what you said!”

“No, Hawke isn’t looking to be the next magistrate or Vicount’s advisor Hayden!” Anders intoned as he jerked up too to stand eye-level with the incensed man - making sure the food was gently put aside. “He just want his mother’s estate back for her! He’s doing it for his family! Why can’t you understand that!?” Anders frowned angrily.

Those green flashed back at him fiercely, “I don’t care about that! I don’t care how you’re making him sound like a heartfelt family member in shiny armor! I care about you! And if he did too, how could he take you with him down to the most dangerous, unknown place if he really loved you?!”

At that, Anders’ whole being stilled. The words slammed against him like a giant tidal wave that left behind wet trails of grotesque lies, deception, sullen irony and a small nasty feeling of resentment toward Hawke himself…

Anders took a deep breath to calm the caving feeling rippling through his chest. Even if Hayden was unaware of it, it was a nasty blow to his heart and he simply didn’t have the right weapons nor the will to fight back. But then suddenly, Hawke words hit him back.

His hopeful voice. His pleading pale eyes.

_“I care that’s why I want you with me.”_

“Listen. My friends are going there all right? And I care for them. Not only Hawke, and I will be of great help to them because I’m a Warden. I can sense darkspawn so there would be no surprising ambushes. And if there were any troubles, I’m also a healer. What if some of them is badly injured and they can’t do anything about it? I can’t Hayden. I can’t take that risk. And I’ve already been there you know, so…”

“What if something happened to _you_?” Hayden snarled, voice sharp like cutting wires. He turned away from Anders and wheeled back on him after a short silence, taking him by the elbows, “I can’t—I can’t let you go Anders I just… I mean I had plans, we were going to _talk_!”

Anders held his bright offended glare, trying not to inch back from the sudden grip; the hurt was just too powerful in the other’s man voice, scorching and squashing his guts with self-disappointment.

“We can still talk; it will just have to wait now. Hayden,” And Anders put his hands on Hayden’s shoulders, robust and squared, carrying Hayden’ scars and past he longed to know about now; his eyes fluttered all over Hayden’s hued greens, “I was really, _really_ looking forward to talk about what you read. What I wrote. About many things. I promise I was.” His voice trembled with fierce sincerity.  

The templar shook his head, “It wasn’t just about that…” Anders mimicked him as his blond ponytail shook too.

When Hayden didn’t offer anything back Anders cut it short to “I’m sorry. But I need to go with them.” Was all he offered and extracted himself away from the man’s personal’s space. He was about to walk away when Hayden grasped his wrist. Anders turned at once not from the sudden move but from the vice-like grip.

“But I love you!”

Anders twitched. “Wh—”

“I love you Anders.” Hayden repeated fervently.

 A fleeting blink of eyelashes later and he was kissing Anders with everything he got. “I don’t want you to leave. Not now. Please. What if something happened to you? Just for the sake of this man’s avid greed for wealth! This whole situation is already plenty strenuous and fucking infuriating for me. But I’m trying to not talk about it. To make our fleeting little moments just about us. So did you think I’m just going to let you set off to the Deep Roads and wish you good luck? Not knowing when you’ll be back or having any way to contact you?” Hayden reeled, boiling outrage and emotions burgeoning into something Anders couldn’t quite place.

He felt different kind of feelings as Hayden went on, but they were all dimed under the cacophonous alarm that reverberated in his ears. Even Justice perked up, sensing and understanding the meaning of what the templar just blurted out.

And all of a sudden, Anders was able to feel his whole body working out the simplest motions, like gulping and lungs pumping.

 Watching as Anders started to blanch intermittently, Hayden tried to appease the blubbing tensions. “I… I know it might be too early for this…”

No, Anders wanted to retort. How did it come to that, was the appropriable assessment.

Was it inevitable from the start? Was it his fault for letting it slip out of control like this? Was the rippling in his stomach just from dread?

“I’m sorry I should have never told you this. Not like this—not now… oh Maker… I’m so sorry it wasn’t right I know… but please say something Anders.”

Rather than talk, Anders touched his pendant. Feeling the polished crystal between his fingertips; singing to him in crystal voice, taking him for a peaceful second away to snowy endless lands.

“I… I… I see.”

“You didn’t flee so I’m gonna chance it.” And he approached Anders, cupping both his cheeks, “I know how you still have issues about the whole templar thing, but if you’re willing, we can work ourselves around it. I want to talk about it. I want you to give me a chance. Would you? Give me a chance?”  

“Everyone deserves a chance.” Anders found himself saying though he didn’t know for the life of him how his mouth connected syllables together. It just seemed to work on its own volition. Hayden leaned down to take his mouth in his in long deep kiss; searing that promise with their lips like a vow.  

“Thank you,” Hayden said between his lips, still kissing away intensely as if the mage’s lips were a life raft.

And Anders? He clung onto the raft with him. Not knowing where it was sealing or what thunderstorms lurked ahead but Hayden smelled of honeyed crumpets and expensive soap and Anders closed his eyes.

 

***

 

Yes. Love can bring out the best in us.

It gives us the courage to tell the truth.

The strength to give a chance.

The confidence to step in and make a change when we feel the threat of concurrence lurking.

But sometimes, it isn’t what love brings in us, but rather…

_“Good evening, there is still a ship coming from Ferelden tomorrow morning right?”_

_“Yes, Kight-Lieutenant, should be expected first thing tomorrow.”_

… who it brings back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the closest picture I found for the crystal ball. Without the chains holding the ball of course. It really look like it's snowing inside <3 ('Cause I love to reflect on how things/characters would look like in RL <3)  
>   
>  _Coming next: the twist?_


	18. The Archangel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split the original chapter in two since it was tremendously long. Also as an apology for the long wait. In the end I kind of like how I seperated that very special chapter that I couldn't wait to reach! So in the wake of this chapter, I want to thank everyone who supported me and left kudos and amazing comments despite all the flaws. As I reread the first chapters, honestly to myself, I see how I progressed, (since the first two chapters were the second thing I ever dared to write) and I only hope you got that feeling too. The first chapter look almost like pilot episode x) but I grasped the way I want to write this thing in the long run, along with syntax and writing skills I still hone everyday. I still have a lot to learn and the only thing I hope is that every chapter turns better that the last.
> 
> also, I want to say that you can follow my progression on this serie's chapters in the profil. (So despite the long wait, you would know how much there's left :)) 
> 
> And yeah. I'm proud I reached this point. Because now, the story can finally take flight!  
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> Title inspired by the song Archangel of Two Steps From Hell, that I consider THE soundtrack to Dangerous Obsessions.  
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the tail of morning, a ship came forth from Ferelden and docked in the quay of Kirkwall. Aboard it, shipments, families, merchants and traders. Nothing the docks weren't familiar with. They started to fuss over the heavy lifting and the cargos, while people disembarked, spreading across the streets of the docks, looking for families to embrace, houses to return to or fortune to make.  

Only that day, the docks were about to witness a sight so very uncommon and unlike any other.

He was not the last one to cross the deck. The nearest dockworker that had bent over to lift a heavy chest first saw white long boots in contrast with black laces. And those laces were probably the only thing black if not dark about him.

The dock man’s gaze followed the white boots up to plain looking trousers.

The rest was hidden behind a thigh-long immaculate white coat. Whatever shapes and curves the lumper hankered to see were all blurred in its thickness.

His steps were muted as they fell on the City of Chain’s territories. Something in his cadence was likely what caught the raiders’ and dockworkers’ attention.

Or was it, perhaps, the blinding whiteness? 

The salty air shifted in wonderment, and swept the sky-blue cowl nestled around the neck.

Some people started to notice him inadvertently only to pause in their devices. And the wind blew again, as if intrigued too, dropping down the blue cowl that also served as a hood around his head. 

Unearthly pale wavy crown. Gilt hair in a mixture of white-blond like brightened snow, neck-long and curly at some ends. Slightly tousled as if the wind was respectful enough not to damage its combed allure.    

But when the people started to prod one others around with their elbows was when their eyes finally leveled to the boy’s face. And the murmurs began.

The boy raised his head to look up, and a flutter of eyelashes later, Kirkwall’s docks faced a sight sculpted out of alabaster.  

From the dainty square chin to the cloven lips, to the flawless slope of the nose, to the cheekbones that could cut glass and finally the eyes - Arctic lakes of foreign lands.

Uncharted territories.

Golden filaments were combed at an odd angle over one side of his face that veiled one of his eyes and random people stopped in their tracks as the sheer beatific walked down the unbecoming, raucous streets of the docks.

His gloved hands lifted to adjust his cowl around his hair again but it was too late. One of the boldest raiders strode forward and attempted a whistle and a “Aye pretty lady. Are you lost? Want me to show you around?”

“Around your nasty pole you mean,” one of them shot back and the men flanking him broke into graceless guffaws.

“Shut your dick-sucking trap, Reiz. I ain’t got a wench who’s got me by the balls.”

“Well I ain’t fucking wenches who give _my_ balls itches,” the other man barked back, groping obscenely on his genitals in emphasis.

“Hey! Shut your faces both of you, and go back to your business unless you want me to give a closer look in what’s in those crates you’re stowing down there!” one of the guards intervened, jogging towards the boy and the small throng of raiders and dockers cackling and whooping. They instantly clapped up their mouths and avoided any more eye-contact while the one who was close to the mysterious boy backed off with both hands up in the air.

“Ain’t doing nothing offensive, serah. Just wanted to see if the lady needed help, she doesn’t seem to be from here, ‘tis all.”

The guard scowled, “Don’t let me catch you importune civilians again or you won’t see the color of the waking sea for a long time, you hear me?”

The bulky raider mumbled some filth between his teeth and scattered off solemnly. The guardsman finally turned to meet the boy’s eyes. “Uh, my sincere apologies, my lady,” he tilted his head in a polite curtsy. “I hope those disgraceful brutes didn’t spoil your arrival in Kirkwall. I promise the rest of us marchers is more respectful,” the young guard said with a bashful smile. He bucked slightly when his eyes leveled with wintry oceans and you could almost spot the exact moment his breath caught in his throat.

“It’s fine.”

The bashful chivalry in the guardsman’s eyes dissolved straightaway as they widened upon hearing the soft yet unmistakably masculine voice. “Oh—oh my… my apologies, you’re a—I assumed you were a—” he stammered, red faced to his ears as all the gallant valiancy was blown away at once.

“It’s fine. It’s no problem.” The quiet voice curled on the words, slow and indolent as if glazed in cool boredom.

The guardsman looked at loss for another minute, his eyes unable to stop fleeting over the boy’s alabaster-molded face with more puzzlement than plain captivation this time.

“Uh—well uh, welcome to Kirkwall and… have a nice day.” The man finally spurted still blushing and positively scooted out of the boy’s path.

He readjusted his cowl around his head and kept walking with his head down, but with eyes flickering in front of him.

He wasn’t lost. In fact he knew exactly what he was looking for as he slipped into the familiar alley. And matter-of-factly, what he was looking for found him first.

“ _Lane!_ ”  

The boy cracked his first smile of the day.

“Dad.”

He didn’t rush toward him. But Hayden jogged on his gait until the boy was at arm-reach and purposely stretched those arms to clasp the boy into a heartwarming embrace.

And the boy’s hands came to circle Hayden too.

The cowl slipped once more off of his hair. The left side of his face plastered against metal armor and he closed his eyes.

“I missed you,” the boy - Lane - said as the eye that wasn’t rubbing against templar breastplate fluttered open, opal gray inside red eyeball.

 

***

  

“How’s your new pair of boots, Blondie?”

“Good. You didn’t need to pay for them, Varric.”

“Don’t worry about it. If we’re lucky enough and this thaig is still intact, I’d be able to pay you the whole collection. By the way, what made you change your mind on last minute? Didn’t you say, I quote, ‘I hate the blighted Deep Roads’?”

Anders exalted loudly. “I know. I did. I still do, but, Hawke… talked me around it. He really wanted me with him… what could I say. He raised some fair points.”

Varric lifted an eyebrow, “Hawke asked you to come? That’s weird. I mean, when he left the Hanged Man to tell you about our departure, we’ve just went around the plan one last time and there were no last minute changes. It actually surprised me how he changed the whole party on a sudden whim. I’m surprised _I’m_ still in!” He joked.

Anders brows drew inwardly. “Really? But he told me he thought of it for a long time?”

“Well, if by long time you mean the ride between the Hanged Man and your clinic. We were all surprised when he came back with the news. Sunshine especially was very annoyed.”

Anders furrowed. “That’s strange. I thought It had been decided for much longer than that…”

Varric noticed how the blond mage started to frown deeply in the direction of where Hawke was currently having a conversation with a laughing Isabela. And surprisingly so, the warrior chose that very moment to turn around to check upon them. He smiled and tipped his head forth in a signal for them to quicken their pace and join them.

“Someone’s enthusiastic,” Varric mused.

Anders kept staring at him pensively. “Yes.” And they both sped up to walk alongside their two friends ahead.

“I see the entrance! Come on! We didn’t wake up at the ass crack of dawn to waste time strolling around the mountains!”

“Yeah, someone’s definitely enthusiastic,” Varric added, sighing as he shook his head at his brother.

Anders gulped.

“You’re all right?” That came from Hawke. He slowed down on his feet despite Bartrand’s shouting command, his voice laced with concern and Anders couldn’t help but lean an inch closer to it.

“Yes.”

Hawke lifted a hand and posed it to the mage’s arm. He gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled. Anders looked down at that warm spot.

He wore fingerless black gloves that had a slim slab of metal behind the knuckles. The first was to better make one with the precious hilt of his weapon and the latter because Hawke liked to use his fists more often than you’d think.

He returned the smile, albeit more tentative. But that little pressure on his arm was enough to fill him with sureness and confidence. It was a gentle gesture, but Anders knew what that gloved hand was capable of, wrapped around the hilt of massive Ferelden sword. And it was everything but gentle.

They started to plunge inside the entrance of the cave. “Any last Warden-ly advice?” Isabela piped up amusingly to Anders as she put a first step inside the darkness.

Anders tossed her a miserable look, and after reviewing all the things a man should watch out for in there, he sighed, looked at Isabela’s wry smile and said “Don’t pick up any mushrooms from the ground.”

Hawke snickered.

 

***

 

“So, how was your trip?” Hayden said.

“Good. The sea was calm all the way here.”

They were walking toward Hightown, Hayden keeping close to Lane as the latter drew his cowl over his head again, giving a tiny sight of slight annoyance at the windy weather of Kirkwall.

Hayden nodded appreciatively, “I’m glad. I was afraid the wind in here would cause turbulences on the sea.”

Lane looked up and smiled. “No.”

“So how are Armysia and Dana?”

“Good. They’re both fine, and they send their greeting. Here,” and the boy reached inside the right pocket of his coat, withdrew a folded note and handed it to Hayden. The latter unfolded it and ran his eyes quickly over what was inside. Finally letting a bemused chuckle.

“That’s sweet. And so poetic. She really should try her hand at writing a novel. I’m sure it’ll be a hit!”

The boy smiled good naturedly and lowered his gaze. “She’s very grateful for the help you offer them.”

Hayden pocketed the note, “She says that Dana is starting to get better. I’m glad I could help.”

“Yes. She’s no longer bound to the bed.”

“The money you receive is plenty enough right? There is no shortage. ”

“Mm hm, it helped them buy the necessary ingredients for Dana’s treatment. They’re very grateful.”

“I’m glad then. Poor woman, the last time I saw her she was dying.”

“You saved her grandmother’s life. They’ll be forever grateful.”

Hayden smiled wistfully for a minute, turned to face the boy and changed his tone for a much enthusiastic one. “And how are you? Maker, look at you. You’ve grown another inch! Soon you’re going to out-length me!”

That wasn’t true though. But Lane chuckled softly as he shook his head. “Nonsense.” he quietly intoned, “I barely get to your chest.”

“You’re climbing pretty fast though. And you’re turning into such a handsome lad! You’ll be devastating hearts soon!”

Lane let a miniscule smile tug up the corner of his perfectly shaped lips.

“How’s your eye?”

“Fine, like always.”

“Mm. Good.”

They entered Hightown market’s which was always crowded by midday, yet Hayden kept mostly to the shadows and well known shortcut alleys. He went on, “I know you must be tired, so let’s have a good meal after you rest a little and then we’ll have time to fully catch up. How does that sound?”

Lane smiled again and quietly said “Good.”

 

 

***

 

When they arrived at Hayden’s flat, the latter went straight to the kitchen.

“Draw yourself a bath and relax from the travel. I’ll make us something to eat.”

Lane nodded, drawing out the cowl hooding his head. “All right.”

He padded towards the bath chambers knowingly as Hayden started to heat the water for the tea.

The boy took his time in the tub. After all, there was nothing pressing awaiting him. He leaned back until everything was under water but his neck.

He soaped his limbs and his hair silently, watching water circles shaping around him with every drop.

At some moment, as he gazed for a long time at one in particular, hanging from the tip of his hair, and just when the droplet of water was about to crash and create another circle, it suddenly stopped mid fall.

The droplet stayed hung in the air, before him, as he kept scrubbing his arm, watching it suspended as if time had stopped around that one little droplet, and then, with the next blink of his eyes, it crashed down as simply as it should’ve.

Suddenly, a soap bubble got lifted from the soapy water. Then another. And another. Until every bubble was levitating around the boy.

He kept washing himself as he gazed at them with a small smile curving his lips. And then, stripes of water dislocated from the water tub, moving upward and all around on their own volition too. 

It was such phantasmagorical sight to behold, as Lane kept bathing, surrounded by floating waters and air bubbles in untroubled quietude…

 

***

 

“So, I thought you’d tanned a little by now! Isn’t it one of the many advantages of living by the sea?”

Lane took another bite of his honeyed sausage. “It’s not always sunny dad.”

They were sitting in the dining room, a large colorful meal adorning the table. When Lane asked if he was the one who cooked it all, the man had answered with a sly smile and, _‘I cooked the sausages. The rest was just… being taken care of.’_

Hayden put his knuckles against his cheek and smiled. “Well at least it is not like the weather of Kirkwall. We’re entering winter and winter here is just very messy.”

“At least it does not snow.”

Hayden’s smile flattened a bit. “Yes. It’s still very rainy and cold though. Anyways. So Dana is in a good shape again right?”

“Yes. Armysia was able to buy all the needful medications with the coin you sent. It’s thanks to you that she can move again,” Lane said.

“Yes, I gathered that from the letter,” Hayden smiled fondly, “You’ll tell her I am relived and very glad for her. These two women deserved all good. After all they did for us. For you.  I’ll be forever in their debts. Hm, perhaps I should write back a letter too.”

Lane sipped on his tea.

“So I gather everything is all right. Your eye? Your voice? Maker I missed you.” And Hayden closed the space between them, locking Lane in a spontaneous embrace that almost made him drop his cup.

“Me too, dad.” 

Hayden released him and grinned. “You still play the violin?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I still got yours in your bedroom. So I’m sure you’d want to rest after eating, but we’ll have plenty of time to talk after. I took the usual time off and I plan on spending every minute with you like a good invading father.”

Lane looked up at him with a tilted head and a tiny smile, “You look happy.” He commented with a tinge of wonderment coating his even tone.    

The comment took Hayden by surprise but he didn’t flatter. Instead his grin grew even larger. Lane was about to take another sip when he paused upon watching his father’s glowing reaction.

“Yes, well… actually…” the brown haired man’s teeth grazed his bottom lip. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said behind the hint of a sheepish smile, “I met someone.”

The boy’s face didn’t waver. Nor the hand curled around the handle of the cup.

“Not so long ago but… yes. You could say I’m pretty happy.”

“Oh.”

Hayden shifted in his seat to comfortably face his son. And with an even more smitten smile he continued, “Well, his name is Anders and…” he paused as Lane’s face contorted with surprise and what was probably more facial expression Hayden had seen in the boy all day.

He floundered a bit and scratched the hair on his nape. “Yeah, he’s a man. I know I know it’s a little surprising…”

Lane tipped his head to the side.

“All right, perhaps very surprising… It… doesn’t bother you, does it?” Hayden inquired hesitantly now.

“No…” Lane shook his head hesitantly. “No but… dad, are you sure?” and for the first time, a frown conjured up to crease the perfect features.

Hayden looked at the serious worried brow and tried to smile reassuringly. He understood. “I know it might seem worrisome but I promise, Lane, he’s not like any other! And he’s a mage too! A healer!” Hayden declared, voice laced with delight and a surprising tinge of proud that made Lane’s head buck backward.

“A mage?” he echoed.

“Yes, he’s a spirit healer. He heals the small people for free. He’s so kind and selfless. Children love him too. I think you would like him, Lane.” Hayden said with such staggering elation that it made Lane double take his father.

“Me?” he stuttered, looking more than a little floored.

“Yes. Well I haven’t yet told him about you… I wanted to but, um, things are still a bit new and there are some differences and complications with him being a mage and me a templar, but I want him to know everything, it’s the only way to get past this mage-templar issue. that’s why I want you to see him. I... I trust him.” Hayden finished with a nod to himself.

Lane’s voice came out nervous and worried, “You trust him _that_ much?” he lowered his incertain eyes and stared at his lap.

Hayden’s hand shot to his boy’s face and cupped his cheek and jaw. “I know what you think. And you have every right to be doubtful, Lane. I… I know,” He said with a purposeful nod, frowning at the boy who still hadn’t leveled his eyes to his. “But Anders is a good man. I never met someone like him and just… he’s everything I thought I’ll never find again in someone else. You know I would never let someone I doubt in the slightest near you. You know that, right?”

The pale haired boy nodded, hair falling over his face like a curtain.

“He trusted me with his secrets. And I want to do the same. Because—” his words caught up and when the sentence was left hung and unfinished between them, Lane finally lifted his head questionably.

Hayden stared up at his son and brushed a hand over the asymmetrical couple of strands veiling Lane’s right eye.

He long since stopped flinching when his father looked it up. But he had yet to hold his gaze and Lane was still incapable of that. He knew what it looked like. The memories it stirred.

So his gaze slid sideways.

Hayden smiled softly and kept his hand were it was as he finally completed his sentence, “Because he makes me happy. And I want to share that with you, too.”

The heartfelt tone and its implications took Lane by surprise as he glanced up at his father who did nothing to hide his gleefulness and in fact, seemed to have been waiting for the subject to be on the table to the point of accurate bursting.

For a few minutes, Lane was left staring in perplexed awe at Hayden who was genuinely smiling, eyes gleaming with something Lane thought he’d never witness back on his father.

Pure and simple happiness. It was all there. Dancing all over the man’s features and Lane got struck by a sharp swelling feeling that almost made him cry.

He didn’t cry though.   

Never again.

“If he makes you happy, then it’s all that matters. You deserve all the happiness of the world,” he said evenly though full of sincerity.

Hayden beamed at his son and couldn’t resist the pull of another hug. “Oh Lane. It’s true, I can’t remember the last time I felt so… good. You have nothing to worry about and I’m sure you’ll love him too.”

Lane leaned against his father’s chest and contemplated it all. Then slowly, a smile eased on his lips and closed his eyes in gratitude.

When Hayden detangled from the second burst of affection, Lane looked up in bashful expectation, “Um. So I’m going to meet him today?”

That made the man shift his eyes slightly as his expression unsubtly dimmed. “Um, about that, well actually he is not in Kirkwall right now. He had to leave just this morning for a trip. Ha. What a luck, huh?”

“Oh. I see.” Lane acquiesced politely.

Hayden put an elbow on the table and plucked a cube of cheese in his mouth. “Let’s just hope he comes back very soon,” he muttered thoughtfully at the plate of garlic bread staring back at him.

In fact let’s _pray_ , he had wished to add.

 

***

 

In the solemn heart of that night, the docks of Kirkwall witnessed a sight so very uncommon and unlike any other.

It was of someone sitting at the end of a deck with his knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them.

His moonlit face looked thoughful and distant, and he wore a pale blue cowl, the color which the moon suspiciously decided to don that night too.

She was scrupulously hanged in the epicenter of the person’s face - casting a lustrous argent trail of countless glitters across the dark sea, as if the world turned upside down and the stars were on the ground.

Like a makeshift astral path towards her.

An extended courtesy to him alone.     

The wayward strands that succumbed to the breeze of the sea and escaped from his cowl, along with the asymmetric ebony fringe, still shone despite the darkness of the night, and he was looking at the horizon from where he just arrived.

Eyes ever so gray and vestal. A violin rested beside him.

There was a silent symphony being played. But you wouldn’t hear it.  

Although you might catch the eerie sight of a bubble of water or two, buoying in the air near a silhouette draped in white facing the harvest moon…

But you would also blink and dismiss it as a trick of the moonlight.


	19. The guilty heart

Cecity is a handicap that prevents people from seeing what’s in front of them. It’s the feeling of being in the darkness.

There is a reason why Anders hates the Deep Roads, and it’s because out of all his fears, blindness is the most potent.

 

***

 

The notion of time blurred and blended together, quickly affecting their biological clocks. Anders stayed close to Hawke. Or perhaps Hawke made sure to stay close to him. But it helped however it was.

The whole group had been stopped as they reached a collapse. The scouts that had been sent said that the only way was by borrowing the side passages which were too dangerous. But that didn’t deter Hawke and him and Varric suggested they would go there and see for themselves if there was any way to continue, and Anders couldn’t blame him. He didn’t invest so much money to stay cross-armed waiting for a miracle to happen and Bartrand seemed to finally see a purpose in Hawke’s presence.

And they also had to look out for that boy Sandal.

Who they found by the end. Next to a frozen ogre.

They kept they stride forward, cleaning the path from giant spiders, darkspawn and ogres until they finally found a straight highway that led forth and past the collapse. The architectural that was visible from afar promised them a good pathway, and they went back to inform the rest of the men of the new clear passage.

After six days of walk and grumbles of doubts between Bartrand’s men about the income of the expedition, their worries ebbed at once when they cut across a caved pathway and stood in front of an astounding sight.

“By the paragons…” Bartrand’s jaw dropped as he held a hand for everyone behind him to pause.

Hawke who was at his side let a shaky sigh escape his parted lips, something between delight and thrill.

“Maker’s breath,” voiced out Anders.

Before them, ruins of something like a citadel glimmering in bright red hued lights. Its stoned beams and statues reached high into the darkness, vast stairways everywhere and what looked like crystalline rocks jutting here and there from beneath the crumbled rocks. Anders wondered what kind of precious metal they were since they were so luminous their beaming light was the only lightning the place offered.

“Is this what you were expecting?” asked Hawke.

Bartrand’s voice was still breathy. “I thought… an abandoned thaig, something old, but… what is this?”

“How did you even know it was here?”

Bartrand explained about old scavenger rumors and tales. Stories that people never believed.

“Looks like they were right,” Varric quipped, looking around him.

Bartrand turned to the rest of his men. “Make camp here! We need to look around.”

Hawke tossed a quick glance at the rest of his companions. “Guess we’re also going to look around. I think I have a good feeling about this,” he said with a smirk and a promising glint in his eye as he turned to look around him.

Isabela shambled forward and chirped gleefully, “I think me too.”

They descended the stairs and set on exploring the surrounding. The thaig was enormous from the inside. Roads that lead sometimes to impasses and sometimes to more splitting paths and caves and large platforms that looked like altars.

Anders approached an architectural that looked like a temple and touched the front beam. It was painstakingly polished and crafted in symbols he couldn’t make. Dwarven perhaps. He didn’t have enough knowledge about their culture to be sure. The only things he learned from that civilization were clichés from Oghren which they didn’t count as cultural, and maybe if they came across a legion of death, he would know how to handshake them properly. But aside from that, Anders was left wondrous and clueless at what was crafted all around him.

“Rubbles so far… You found something interesting?” Hawke approached him.

“Oh, no… I was just looking at what could possibly be written here.”

  The warrior stood beside him, looking at the crafted stone beam. “It’s incredible…” Anders said softly.

“You’re right,” nodded Hawke, assent.

“I mean… I never seen something like this when I was down here with the Wardens. And we’ve been down here for a long, very long time.”

“Really?”

“Yes… we did come across many thaigs but they weren’t like this. They were… squatter. You know, built for dwarves. But this place looks like temples. I don’t know, maybe Varric knows better,” Anders yielded, shaking his head.

“Actually, even Bartrand doesn’t know better. He doesn’t recognize this place and found nothing of dwarven writings and statues. And he was pretty offensive about his kind’s culture when I told him he couldn’t know everything about dwarven history.”

Anders chuckled. “Well. The mystery remains then.” 

“Want to look around?” Hawke asked, tilting his head to a pathway illuminated by those red hued roots that circled the beams and jutted from everywhere.

They walked comfortably together for a while, Hawke inspecting the surroundings for anything that could attract his attention; they found Varric and Isabela on the way and the two joined them down the path. Then Anders paused in his tracks.

“What?” Hawke asked.

Anders’ brows drew inwardly, “Do you hear this? There’s like a humming…”

Hawke stopped too and tried to listen. He frowned, “I don’t hear anything. Is it darkspawn?” he quickly squared his shoulders and looked warily ahead.

“No… it’s not the taint. It’s like a melody, it’s quite… nice. Soft.”

“I don’t hear anything either Blondie.”

Isabela shrugged.

“I don’t know, Anders. You want us to stop?” Hawke asked carefully now.

Anders shook his head dismissively, “No, no, let’s keep going. There’s nothing to be worried about for now.”

They soon found themselves cutting through a set of small chambers, empty but for rubbles and skeletons and outside, reached a set of large staircases that descended and led to a giant set of doors.

“The humming is getting louder,” Anders supplied.

“These walls look impressive. Let’s see,” Hawke advanced first, leading them down the stairs and toward the door.

For Anders, the humming intensified. And no matter how nice it was, he couldn’t suppress the chary feeling of going through that towering monument.

Before them, a pedestal.And in the exact center of it stood a small altar. Anders flinched slightly, “Ung, it’s coming from there, there is something on that altar.”

Hawke approached first. The more they did, the more the twinkling of something on top of the altar was visible. He climbed the stairs and stood in front of what was gleaming.

“You see what I’m seeing?!” Varric voiced out.

An idol. Sitting randomly in the center of the altar, was staring back at them. And it was quite a dreadful stare. The statuette had the effigy of a twisted naked humanoid. With no eyeballs. It was holding something in its hands but the forms of the golden material were blended with another twisted human, headless, arms stretched upward and seeming to hold the odd circle against what the skeletal form was leaning on.

But what worried Anders was the strings of red roots that pointed out from the body as well as the eerie electric spark that flew from it. Something about it seemed… wicked.    

Hawke was the one who broke the spell, “Is that… some kind of lyrium?”

“It’s definitely magic. And not the good kind,” Anders responded warily, shaking his head.

“Doesn’t look like any kind of lyrium I’ve ever seen,” Varric said before noticing a tier participant entering the room. “Ah, look at this, Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune!”

The brother whistled. “You could be right. Excellent find.”

Hawke stepped forward. Anders watched as the idol’s electrical gleam intensified as if sensing the man’s approach. His hands twitched to stop Hawke from touching it but unlike him, the warrior didn’t hesitate and grasped the idol at once. Anders’ gulp paused in his throat for a second.

“Not bad.” Varric grinned, taking the statuette from Hawke, “We’ll take a look around now, see if there’s anything further in.”

Anders let out a muted exhale. Varric lobbed it to Bartrand who swiftly grabbed it.

“Things are starting to look up,” quipped Hawke with a smug smile to Anders. The mage couldn’t help but smile back, sighing the worry away.

Isabela prodded him with her elbow and said cheerfully, “Come on, heads up sweetie.” 

Anders smiled and was about to reply to her when he heard Hawke bellow, “The door!”

They all whipped their heads toward the entrance, watching as the door closed behind Bartrand. Hawke dashed forward as if there weren’t any stairs, but the door still slammed shut against him in a loud _Bam_. Hawke banged on it ferociously.

Varric yelled, “Bartrand! It’s shut behind you!”

Bartand’s voice came slightly muffled from behind the thick stone door. “You always did notice everything, Varric.” But the sneering chuckle was what gave him out and made Varric and Hawke share a disbelieving look.

Varric peeved, “Are you joking? You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?”

“It’s not just the idol. The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I’m not splitting that three ways. Sorry, Brother.”

Anders recognized a meaningful apology when he heard one. And that ‘sorry’ wasn’t one of them.

“Bartrand! Bartraand!” Varric shouted, slamming his gloved palms against the unyielding door.

 But Bartrand wasn’t responding anymore.

“I swear I will find that son of bitch. Sorry mother. And I will _kill_ him.”  He groused. “Ugh, let’s hope there’s a way out of here.”

Hawke sighed and rubbed the drawn up lines of his brows. The door was barricaded with large piece of metal. There was no way his sword would cut through it.

“Anders, can you maybe—” But Hawke stopped mid-phrase upon facing the blond mage. Anders was hyperventilating. Silently, as if he thought it could go unnoticed. His chest was visibly heaving and his fingers were nervously fidgeting together. Hawke closed the distance automatically. He put a hand on one feathered shoulder and drew his head closer to Anders, “Hey, hey, you all right?” his voice dropped into a rare softness. 

Anders gulped down laboriously. They were trapped. His mind reeled. More than a week down the Deep Roads.With meager provisions and water reserves and with no maps to follow. Blood rushed in his ears. His eyes made contact with Hawke’s and he finally started to feel the tightness around his shoulders. Hawke’s hands were clasping him. Holding him upward in case he fell down.

“Hawke… It’s… it’s the…”

“I know. I know,” Hawke cut him off, nodding in apprehension and support. He didn’t need Anders to speak it out for him for he knew Anders had shared it as a secret, and he shall respect it. “Don’t worry, I’m here, we’re all here, it’s going to be all right, hm? We’re going to find a way out for sure.” Hawke kept saying, not really an expert in the methods of calming down an anxiety attack, but he knew he put Anders’ health on the line so if there were any words that could help the mage out of this, he would damn well find them.  

The two other companions eyed them oddly as Hawke slid his hands down Anders’ biceps and started a rubbing motion. “I made a promise, right? You trust me, right?” he murmured softly, as if soothing a spooked child; the notion of personal space long gone between them.

“Yes…”

“Varric, give me some water,” Hawke addressed the dwarf all at once.

“Uh, what’s wrong with him?” Varric ventured cautiously, handing Hawke his hipflask.

The man grabbed it without looking and thrust it delicately onto Anders’ hands. “Nothing. He’s just stressed out a bit. Here, drink some water.”

Anders felt up the leathered pouch between his hands – it was soft. Fine leather. He brought it to his lips. The cool water wetted his mouth and gullet and calmed his palpitating senses. His focus came back to him, and as his head was tipped back, his eyes connected with frowning grays.

“Good?” Hawke said.

Anders nodded slowly. “Sorry—I,”

But Hawke stopped him again, “No, don’t. I understand. Just tell me if you feel better, you need to sit?”

“I think… I think it passed… I’m fine, now. I just… panicked slightly,” Anders whispered, voice still strained. He didn’t want to worry his companions, look or sound weak.

“I know, I understand. We’re still together, and we’ll find a way out I’m sure. I’m right beside you, Anders,” Hawke murmured the last words, intimately, his thumb mindlessly rubbing up and down Anders’ measly shirt held by criss-crossed white threads on the sides.

Anders held Hawke’s intense gaze for another minute, held into his comforting voice leaden with patience and a softness he rarely witnessed, he wished for an flitting moment to be huddled against his broad body and imagine they were anywhere but where they were.

It didn’t happen. Anders got hold of himself, reassuring Hawke and the rest of his friends, that everything was fine, and that it was a temporary discomfort. He assured them there was no need to dwell more on the place and that they should get going, and after another question check from Hawke, they were ready to go, passing through a door that – this time – was easy to break open and that lead into a rundown hall.

 

***

 

After five days and a multitude of more halls and empty rooms, spiders, and astray darkspawn, Anders was having a dreadful feeling that they were going southerly down the Deep Roads instead of up. And it wasn’t a good sign when the last set of doors opened on a wide, dark cavern. At least the halls and rooms they crossed were lit up with lanterns, but the cave that stood before them bespoke of their deepness.

“Great…” Isabela mourned under his teeth.

“Come on, there must be a way out of this blighted place.”

“I don’t know what’s more depressing; not finding an exit or not finding any Deep Roads’ rumored treasures.” She sighed exasperatedly.

Anders shared her depression silently while Hawke didn’t respond. But Anders who was walking beside him could see that Isabela’s cynical assumptions had irked him with self-failure and a sour trueness.

It was not the ogre that been waiting from them at the last chamber or the darkspawn that charged at them out of nowhere at the junction of a tunnel; but suddenly, Anders felt his chest wring tight around him. Air stopped making it to his nostrils and his lips parted, letting out shallow inhales and exhales attempts. And then his chest started heaving.

It was the engulfing darkness.

The deepness.The feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into more and more strait passages.The taint in his blood making itself too present.Too loud.

He hated it. 

His heart began to pump faster and suddenly the ground started to sway and give up beneath his feet. No, it wasn’t the ground… it was him.

“Ha—Hawke—” it came out as a feeble choke.

Not enough light not enough light not enough light - his lightheaded mind desperately warned.

A same like tableau began to drift before eyes. A narrow cell in the basement. And no light.

“I want light… please—” Anders heard himself whimper to that memory, or maybe it was all just in his head and he hadn’t actually spoken, but the next second, he lost his balance and tumbled backwards.

He didn’t hear the dull sound of his head hitting the concrete. Actually, he never collapsed. Arms were suddenly circling him, not knowing how his body thudded forth against metal armor and not backward.

“Anders!” Hawke cried out. Anders looked up with a blanched, terrified expression.

“I can’t—breath I can’t—” he wanted to repeat but Hawke cut him off, “It’s all right, it’s all right, I’m here, Varric! Someone gives me water! Now!” he growled in Isabela and Varric’s direction. Water was handed in quickly while Hawke managed the both of them into a sitting position without untangling from each other.

“It’s all right Anders, just breath, I’m here, you’re not alone, here water, please look at me, Anders,” Hawke fired uncoordinated words as softly as his nerves could handle, watching the blond man’s body drenching in sweat and shivers. Anders wasn’t really fading into unconsciousness, yet, at least. But the anxiety attack wasn’t about that. It was about making your skin crawl on itself, depraving you of air and torturing your lung’s mechanics first. He felt his arms sag and go slack on his sides and he couldn’t speak through his dried throat.

But Hawke’s voice felt good. Faint and distant but good. His hands cupping his cheeks, his body against his felt good too, but what Anders was grateful for is someone talking to him. Anchoring him to the conscious world.

He didn’t break the heavy lidded eye-contact with Hawke as he kept heaving.

Hawke brought the hem of the flask to his lips carefully, and sip by sip made sure Anders didn’t choke on the water too all while continuing to talk to him in a soothing tone, short syllable words like _good, I’m here,don’t worry, breathe_ …

He also heard him say loudly and not entirely addressed to him, “We’re going to stop here for now. Make camp.”

Isabela and Varric who were hovering over them but not overly crowding them nodded. “We’ve been walking for hours now anyways. We could do with some rest. Hey Hawke, what’s going on with Blondie? Is he going to be all right?” Varric spoke out softly, unshouldering his crossbow.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine, just… tiredness, don’t worry, Varric. Do we have any protein bars or something to eat?”

“Yeah I got that. Here. You need something else?”

“Thank you, no I have the water at hand, I’ll stay with him for now.”

Varric looked down at them with worried eyebrows then sighed, “I’ll go start a small bonfire, if you need anything,”

“Thank you.” Hawke nodded his gratitude once and returned his stare to the mage settled on his lap.

“Here, you want to eat something? Don’t talk, just nod, focus on breathing. ” The warrior calmly whispered, hands easing back strands of blond from Anders’ forehead even if they were already all eased away, but the move seemed to please Hawke so he repeated it many more.

“Just, water,” Anders whispered. Hawke brought the water to his mouth again, cradling the back of his head with one hand and tipping it slowly.

Hawke said “We’re setting camp here, so just relax. And breathe. Please.”    

“I’m sorry, I… I started to worry—” Anders tried but his lips were shaking around every word.

“Don’t say another word.” Hawke rebuked, voice strained with something undecipherable. “It’s all right, I understand, you told me. I… I should be the one apologizing; I dragged you here against your good will.” Then suddenly, Hawke’s voice dropped into a wounded groan, “Maker… I’m so sorry Anders, It’s my fault.” He chided with a painful expression, looking down but finding Anders’ gaze on him and settling for turning away to face the crumbled rocks.

Anders had never seen such a sight before. Never thought the man was capable of scrunching his face so tightly, shoulders sagged and brows knitted together in a self-directed scowl.

Unthinkingly, Anders mustered all his force reserves into lifting one hand upward and touched the man’s beard. The unpremeditated gesture startled him and looked down to a smiling Anders watching him through weary eyes and parted wet lips still working on pumping air shallowly.

“Anders…”

“I’m fine. You held on your promise,” Anders murmured softly.

Hawke snorted halfheartedly and smiled through his guilt leaden face. “You’re a fool if you doubted it for one second.”

Anders cracked another tiny smile, “And now you’re insulting me?” he croaked softly.

Hawke bit his lower lip, clearly trying not to grin and then shook his head, “You scared the shit out of me, Anders. I don’t know what to do, how to deal with this anxiety thing.”

“I just need someone to talk me through it. The first time it happened… it was horrible, I didn’t know what was happening to me… but Nate, Sigrun and… Justice,” he added with a fondly smile - feeling Justice inside him preening and humming softly at the memory - “They helped me and stayed beside me… just talking to me.”

Hawke nodded hopeful. “I can do that. Talk to you.”

Anders hand started to fatigue and slide down slowly. It came to rest on his stomach, where one of Hawke’s hands was already laying.

Hawke floundered for a while, “I, uh… shit… Varric does a better job than me in the talking section…”

He was so endearing, Anders thought. A big warrior like him, floundering around words and small talk, biting his lips. It was enough to make him smile and forget his dysfunctional lungs system.

“Can I have some more water?”

Hawke blinked and fussed for the hipflask of Varric, “Yes of course, here.”

“Thank you.” He took a gulp and set the flask beside him. Well if Hawke was so bumble about small talk, Anders could give a little pushing start. “Part of why I didn’t want to come was the nightmares. You know, ever since I joined with Justice, he made sure to shield me from demons. So now I don’t need to fight them in my dreams anymore.”

The other man smiled agreeably and nodded, “That’s a pretty great deal.”

“But Justice can do nothing about the nightmares caused by darkspawn. And when a Grey Warden is in their domain, he can also hear them by day. That’s why we say Wardens sense their presence.” He let out a sigh. “What a great combination, eh? Mage and Grey Warden.”

“But now it’s just darkspawn nightmares right? You have them every night?”

“They get more numerous and… loud - when down the Deep Roads.”

Hawke dropped his voice into a deep soft murmur, “But you’re a strong mage. Whatever happens in those nightmares, remember; it’s all illusions. It’s not real. Because what’s real, it’s me. With you. Against them,” he said with a tone offensive like the edge of his sword. It made Anders’ next swallow difficult. But despite it all, he was grateful for it. He was grateful for Hawke being so composed and unyielding. Sure of himself, and more importantly, _there_ for him. He needed that self-confidence. That raw strength that oozed off the warrior. So even if these words made him shiver, they were good shivers. Shivers that came from solace.

After a momentum of silence, Hawke began to shift under him. Anders thought he might have started to weight heavily on the man’s lap, but before he could do anything Hawke said “No I just want to roll the sleeping bag so we get a little comfortable.”

Oh. That almost sounded like… but Anders mentally shook his head. He did not need those thoughts while his head was laid on Hawke’s lap.

The sleeping bag was rolled rapidly on the ground and Hawke helped Anders into a sitting position again, their back against the wall. They were few feet away from the small fire that crackled into the silence of the large open cavern but it was nice to have some light back again. What also felt nice was Hawke’s side literally pressed against his. He was leading a fight against the urge of dropping his head on Hawke’s shoulder when the shadow of Isabela approached them, “How do you feel, sweetie?”

Anders tilted his head upward and pulled on a small smile, “Better.”

The look she gave at the absent personal space hardly went unnoticed by neither of the sitting men. “Good. Don’t go scaring us like that again! By the way, there is a small stream just behind these rocks you’re leaning against in case you want to take a soak, Maker knows I do!”

Hawke nodded, “Understood. Don’t forget to fill your flask of water.”

Isabela nodded and tossed them a “Be good.” comment before she retired.

“Your breathing has evened.” Hawke said quietly.

“Yes… the light helps.”

“You fear darkness.” Again, the tone is just an affirmation.

Anders sighed, hating to be thrown that accusation on his face. How it made him feel so vulnerable. Yes, he had fears like anybody else, but his fears were his own and didn’t like when someone pointed at them. Not anymore. “I don’t fear it. My body responds to… the panic it causes me,” he said, struggling to find the words that would describe it accurately.

“It’s not fear… it’s a trigger… of past experiences that I already discussed with you…” he only hoped Hawke remembered for he didn’t feel like reopening that door again. Not in the Deep Roads of all places. He also hoped Hawke wouldn’t forget such an intimate part of him he dared to share.

“Yes, I remember, the solitary…”

“Yes,” the mage breathed.

“Void takes them. They should pay for the repercussions of their act. You should’ve never had to suffer such an issue in the first place,” Hawke growled indignantly and Anders liked the way all that anger was directed to his jailers.

“They attend to break us, from the inside. Implant the seed of fear and ignorance. I knew some who became afraid of the outside world, others who stayed infantile, forever dependent of the templars. They don’t let us grow into functional adults.”

Hawke squeezed his hand, frowning through Anders’ increasingly heating speech. “Not all of you. They didn’t get to you. You were stronger.” And he clasped his hand tightly over Anders’.

“You’re sure?” The corner of his lips tugged upward in derision. “They still managed to leave me with panic attacks to deal with.”

“But you still remained strong. You didn’t bend. And you are not alone anymore. I’m with you and I won’t abandon you, Anders.”

They lapsed into silence after that. Hawke’s hand stayed on top of Anders’s. The fire that cracked in the centre was far from them and too small as to not attract any unwanted company, making them recoiled in the shadows of crumbled rocks and foundations, behind prying eyes that would see or sense the heaviness of those words, the intensity of their stare, the parting lips and the slow inch forward.

The Deep Roads stopped. The world stopped rotating as Hawke closed the hairbreadth distance.

 Anders closed his eyes for an eyelashes-flitting moment, heart leaping in the pulsepoint of his wrists as lips crashed against his.

And they were Hawke’s lips.

Soft and chapped and Anders’ brain outright clocked out for an timeless moment while his still functioning senses relished in the way his mouth moulded perfectly to his… before he actually realized that Hawke was _kissing_ him.

He detached his lips quite messily with a chopped moan and put a flat, still slack hand on the man’s breastplate, “Hawke…”

“Was that a bad idea?” Hawke intoned quietly, eyes still cast to the space between their mouths.

Anders wanted to touch his lips to ascertain what had just transpired. One thousand one question rushed in his head and the first one he was able to grasp on was, “No but—I mean… why would you do that? I thought… I had assumed you weren’t… interested…” the words left his lips, sundered and hesitant.

“Why would you think that?” inquired Hawke genuinely.

“Well the first thing that comes to mind is that night we met the sister! When you snapped at me so aggressively out of the blue? Yelled at me?” countered Anders. That was something he hadn’t yet fully swallowed and that kept nagging at him ever since it was left on the ice. Hawke spiting and yelling at him wasn’t something he appreciated and he needed to know the reason why. He saw the man massage his frown, hand brushing past the short black strands that framed his forehead.

“I… well you’re right I shouldn’t have acted that way that night. I don’t know it’s just… you started to act strangely, giving me the same excuses every time I asked you where you were at. I just… hated how you started to drift away.”

“What? I never drifted away Hawke, you’re the one who started to ignore me and stopped visiting the clinic all together! I thought…” Anders chewed on lower lip, eyes averting sideway, “You found the company of Fenris far better.” And he hated the roll of jealousy in his stomach that accompanied that statement.

The warrior’s brow knitted together, “What? What made you think that?”

Anders snapped back his head toward him with an offended glare, “Well I saw you one night. It—it irked me how you stopped coming and I worried that something was wrong or something happened? So I decided to make the first step for once and… try to see if you were at the Hanged Man. And you were there, at the bar with him. You looked so intimate… your heads almost bumped as you talked… even Corff was trying to give you privacy…”

Hawke looked dumbstruck for a minute. He seemed to recollect the night Anders spoke about and when it finally clicked he tilted his head in a disbelieving manner, “That night Fenris was just telling me about his life in Tevinter, I was just trying to be a compassionate ear,” He spurted. “There never had been anything between me and him, I promise!  It… it always been you.”

The last sentence sent shivers down Anders’ spine and made his next breath difficult to swallow. He frowned, looked out of words for a brief instant before interjecting back, “Then why did you avoid me for weeks? Why did you become so cold towards me? Throwing piques and spiting me every time you happened to see me?”   

Their voices got involuntary higher in the bleak and gloomy silence that surrounded them as their engorged hearts spilled bottled up admissions and reproaches at long last. And if Varric and Isabela heard the sudden raised voices coming from their corner, they judged it best to not interfere.

Hawke shifted in his position, crossing his legs and facing the small fire in the distance. Anders regarded him with a questionable look as Hawke exhaled loudly and rubbed his frown again. It seemed to be the warrior’s nervous tic, Anders noted silently to himself.

“I hated it,” Hawke finally voiced out. “The day you refused to come with us, for that Vicount’s son matter… you always agreed – I truly wanted you with me and you blatantly refused. I hated how it made me feel. It’s probably ridiculous but I felt betrayed. I’m not very much used to people disregarding and brushing me off… and I hated how it irritated and pissed me off even though there was no reason at all. So I… tried to take my distances a bit.”  Then he paused and if it wasn’t for the darkness, Anders wondered if the man was blushing as he looked shyly sideways and anywhere but at Anders’ face. He was dumbfounded by the way things ended up to be in reality. Giving a million year and yet Anders would never be able to come up with that explanation to Hawke’s recent behaviors swings. But Hawke hadn’t finished.

“I tried to see if I could distance myself from you, so I don’t feel that way again.” He shook his head, “But I couldn’t. And I hated it all the more. I’m… I’m sorry. It was my stupid fault and you didn’t deserve it.”

Anders was floored. He didn’t know what to be startled about. The whole explanation or Hawke apologizing with such a defeated expression bereft of all he was used to from the rugged man.

 Silence stretched again.  

Anders baffled off his senses couldn’t do much but use the tense quietude to assert everything that transpired. And then it dawned on him just when Hawke turned fully and faced him with a renewed firm expression.

He cupped one of his cheeks and closed the distance between their lips. His eyes were lidded with raw desire and he breathed, “I love you, Anders,” before sealing his lips with him.

It was not the kiss, but the sudden revelations that took Anders’ heart and soul by surprise.

Hawke’ mouth moved over his lips, using it like he would his precious sword - strong and unbidden, but the dominating part of Anders’ brain was more focusing on the part that _Hawke loved him._

Sensory overload took over him, and for a Thedas stopping moment, the wall of the Deep Roads evaporated and it was only him and Hawke in an oblivious, irrelevant space. He couldn’t clang to the flat plate armor so he clung to the bared biceps. Hawke’ hands ran down his neck and stayed there, forcing Anders to not move.

Forcing? No. Anders wouldn’t blink that moment away for fear of it dissolving like one on his shameful dreams back in his clinic.

Hawke kissed like a pent up beast. Like a drink addict. Like a hero at the end of a novel tale.

And Anders moaned low and slow in his throat like a scrupulous tomcat.

It was everything he imagined ever since Hawke shot him that ravishing smile. He yearned for those brawn-honed hands to hold his neck in gentle violence, for the feeling of that coarse beard stroking against his faint stubble cheeks, for that mouth to impetuously ravish his.

Well, everything omitting the settings, for the Deep Roads had never been his first imagery when he thought of an unlikely first time with the dark haired warrior.

For the dream to turn to reality so rapidly was still difficult to grasp and for a short instant he wondered if he hadn’t actually made it to the ground when the anxiety attack coiled up on him and all of this was just delirium.

But then Hawke started to lean him down the sleeping bag and delivered a gentle bite to the column of his neck that made Anders gasp aloud and open his eyes.

Hawke was still there, atop of him. And also out of his top platemail. The sight was so delightful Anders panicked.

“Hawke—Hawke, ah, I think—isn’t it a little fast _auh_ —”

Hawke had laid him successfully on his back and begun to give Anders’ neck his undivided attention. “Why? I wanted you since the day I saw you. I tried to push you away but I ended up hating myself for every minute I’d hurt you doing so. Don’t you… want this too? Have I read it wrong?” And he stopped to meet Anders’ eyes.

The gray in them was swallowed by a pool of dark slate. Anders could discern much with the dim light cracking away. And if Hawke wasn’t saying the truth, his eyes bespoke of his sincerity. But all the dilated eyes in Thedas wouldn’t suffice in subduing Anders’ self-insecurities. Either moral or physical to be. He pressed a hand over Hawke’s chest.

“No, I…” he flushed and tried to avoid Hawke’s slight insecure gaze - in vain, “I did… thought about you…  I just don’t know if this is a good idea…”

“So you already have someone,” Hawke deadpanned all of a sudden, making Anders’ eyebrows jolt to his hairline.

He made a quick move to object. And maybe a little _too_ quick as he spurted, “What—no! No, of course not,” and though he calmed his startled features under Hawke’s solid stare, his body had unconsciously jerked and shuddered at the underlying mention of an indeed someone.

“Then why? I want you Anders. Why can’t we grasp the here and now moment?”

“I don’t want to…” the desperate meaning of his sentence made Anders’ words catch in his throat. He tried again. “I don’t want to be just a fling or a short lived infatuation… if it’s the case I rather just stay friends, Hawke, please,” he said with all openness, his eyes boring into Hawke’s.

Hawke didn’t say anything back. He picked up Anders’ hand and lifted it to his rest against his chest. “The thing is I have never been good with smooth talk. I wish I could sweep you off your feet right now with a dashing love declaration worthy of the best Antivan’s novels… but I never actually read one so,” and he lips upturned a notch as Anders’ eyes rounded with genuine surprise. “I’m going to let you be the judge of this.” Hawke moved their hands clasped together to the left of his breast until the mage’s hand rested on the spot his wanted.

And with a bowed head, dark eyes hesitantly, almost embarrassingly gazing from beneath eyelashes, the warrior murmured “This is how my heart beats whenever I’m around you.”

Anders’ heart downright plummeted in his underbelly. Somewhere he felt grateful for his laying position because his legs had turn to glop on either side of Hawke. His mouth opened but no sound made it out.

It felt like everything around him had dissipated and the only thing alive and tangible was Hawke’s heartbeats against his palm.

It was strong and almost intimidating. Fastening his own heart and steadying his world.

His Deep Roads’ hourglass.

He didn’t feel his eyes swell until Hawke bent down and kissed the little tear away. He kept kissing his face, cheek, nose, temple, and finally rested his mouth against Anders’ still parted flushed lips, taking the lower pout softly in between his teeth.

“I love you,” Hawke whispered unbidden into the kiss and Anders’ arms flew around the bigger man and circled his back, clasping at his shirt, his straps, anything, tightly, making sure everything wasn’t a surreal dream or worse, a deceiving one.

Hawke read Anders’ inner insecurities wrong and untangled himself from Anders’ clutch. He rose on his hunches and swiftly stripped unceremoniously out of his undershirt.

There, between Anders’ tights, a towering heap of rippled muscles, defined chest and tight abdomen wrought by heavy sword training and a pugilist nature.

 It stole Anders’ breath away how every bit of Hawke’s body was cut and calibrated painstakingly like the crafting of a holy relic. From the defined and defiant collarbones to the squared shoulders and down the strong swell of his biceps, Anders’ eyes roved unashamedly onto the hedonistic sight that promised concupiscent quivers down his body.

The wrought body of a warrior.

A very dashing warrior.

He brought a tentative hand between them, long fingers tapering the curves and dips of the ripped stomach; reveling in the hair and the compact tightness. Hawke contracted his stomach-muscles making Anders eyes grow wide and stirring a deep chuckle out of the warrior.

He let Anders have his curious way with both hands on his flesh and took the opportunity to unbuckle his coat and paulderons. Then he raised Anders into a sitting position and kissed him deeply while his hands shed him out of his clothes.

He laid him on his back again and caged him between his arms, “Maker you’re gorgeous even in the dark.” He sighed, voice laced with a reverential undertone. His hands started to skim and map over Anders’ trim, rangy build, antithesis to Hawke’s in every way, yet Anders was surprised to see that the man seemed more enthralled by his lesser defined body.

Curious calloused fingers skimmed all over his naked skin, taking in the shapes and angles, bending his head to drop a reverent chaste kiss to his jawline and neck and paused.

“What’s this?”

Anders ducked his head to look and froze. Hawke was looking curiously at his pendant. Hayden’s pendant.

_Hayden._

The vision of the man struck him like sudden bolt to his mind, and a sharp tightness ate at his chest, making his skin curl in a sudden hideous feeling.

Guilt ridden.Thick and acrid.

His hand flew unconsciously to the pendant resting coolly under his collarbone as if he could make it disappear beneath his palm. “It’s a gift,” Anders muttered.

 His eyes unfocused and the exciting gleam that was once in his amber eyes dimed, and all at once his mind’ eye flooded with smiling green eyes and bright smiles and chestnut scents and a whole other voice that echoed—

_“I love you.”_

His heart leaped, branched out, and plummeted.

Oh Maker, what was he doing. Was it fair? Was he cheating on the man? Could it be seen as cheating? Somehow, to Anders or Anders’ still stunned heart at least, it felt so in every possible way. But then he had never wanted the man. It was Hawke he’d always desired. It was this moment he’d always dreamed of.

But… Hayden turned to be so gentle. So patient.So understanding. He has been there for his nightmares and there to warn him off the templars. He kept him company when Hawke stopped showing at the clinic. He brought him yellow flowers and the sweetest foods and told him he loved him.

_Made love to him._

He tried to reach inwardly for help. But Justice stayed silent. And then he felt the spirit’s shocking thoughts.

He’d rather have a man like Hawke if it meant dropping that insane, harebrained dalliance with the templar.

Anders knew then that it was up to him to decide. Things with both men had escalated and cascaded so quickly and took such tremendous proportions that it left the blond mage floored and aghast.

He had never thought Hawke would ever return his feelings so keenly. And they were already so far gone… Hayden… was still a surreal feeling. Precarious grounds. Too close to the danger. Too close to his worst memories.

While Hawke… Hawke was alike him in so many ways. He understood what it was like to live in apostasy. His father was a mage too and he always fought against the templars to protect his sister. He’d always helped the mages they had encountered and more crucial, he was _not_ a templar.

Anders blinked.

Hawke touched his hand and slid it gently away, thinking the move was a shy gesture. He picked the crystalline ball between his fingers,

“Oh look at that, it’s snowing inside,” he murmured with a smile.

“Yes…”

He swirled it between his thumb and forefinger for another second and then deposed the pendant back against Anders’ flesh. “Well, it’s a beautiful gift. It suits you.”

_“I just think it would suit no one else but you.”_

Hawke words echoed in a different voice in the fore of his mind and Anders’ face pinched as if they hurt him physically.

Hawke was riding different waters though. Unaware of the hot coiling inside the man under him, he moved his way down Anders’ breeches, undoing the laces slowly while pausing now and then to kiss the dip between flesh and fabric. He managed the task with no halts from Anders and went upon his own trousers with more furtive hands.

When his trousers fall off his hips, taking down his smalls with them was when Anders broke out of his daze. Because he met Hawke’s girth and sweet Andraste on her pyre.

Anders felt a new shiver arch his back. Yes, he liked what he was seeing.

Hawke was perfect.

But it still _hurt._ Because that posture rekindled another memory… of another man, another place, as dark and as unbecoming, but…

But.

 _It feels the same right?_ Inquired something deep inside him with a smile.

“Hawke… Are you sure about this?”

“Garrett.”

“Huh…?”

“Don’t call me by my last name. Call me Garrett.”

Anders hesitated, staring at Hawke’s eyes in some kind of renew way – as if he was looking at him for the first time. As if he rediscovered his features anew.

“Garrett,” he finally uttered quietly. Tasting the word on his tongue for the very first time. Even in his little fantasies he didn’t dream about calling him by his first name. It had seemed like a rule Hawke had put between him and the rest of the people when he introduced himself as Hawke curtly. It had seemed like something only Bethany and his mother was _allowed_ to do. 

And assimilating that meaning made Anders feel all kind of… good.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything else.” Hawke leaned back, adjusted on his elbows and left almost no space between their eyes, “I love you, Anders.”

His soft chest, his flat belly, his navel, his hipbone; peck after peck descending southward and leaving a map of nice gooseflesh on his way.

“Haw—Garrett,” Anders breathed out, hands entwining in the thick disheveled black strands, “ _Ahn, mmh_ ,”

Anders had to make a choice. Right then. His mind couldn’t stand being torn apart with worry and guilt.     

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Anders closed his eyes at the sensation of his heart fluttering like butterflies’ wings in response. “Say it again,” he whispered.

Hawke smiled up at him. He bent down and kissed his belly. “I love you, Anders. I’m in love with you. I don’t care if it’s too soon or too precipitated. That’s what I feel and I have no reason to hide it from you. _I love you_.”

Yes. Hawke was what he always wanted. He opened his eyes at the sinking realization and darkened ambers met darkened grays.

Hawke bit his lip. An action that almost looked bashful. He looked up from Anders’ stomach with a twitching furrow. “Would you say it back too? I mean if it’s what you feel—I don’t want—I, uh,”

The mage had never heard that voice _tripping_ over words and wondered on the moment if he hadn’t hallucinated it.

Anders put on cupping hand on the man’s jaw, with eyes locked with each other, he said “I love you too,” and smiled when Hawke frown relaxed. “Of course I do.”

They seared the entrancing moment with their lips in a long passionate kiss; Anders holding on him with every limb of his, Hawke pushing against him, cradling Anders’ face in both hands and words became lost between their heated embrace.

“Do you permit it?” 

Anders gulped at the gentle ask of permission. It was as if Hawke was a whole new person while in bed. Well, in the ground and most likely lost in the Deep Roads but then since when Anders’ luck decided he could have it all. At least he got the most substantial part.

So he smiled and said “Yes.”  

 

***

 

Cecity is a handicap that prevents people from seeing what’s in front of them.

Like the man’s gentle kiss that hides a substantial jealousy. 

The token of what a simple object around one’s neck really means.

Or like those who aren’t aware of the culpability they repressed.

Yes. The world is full of people with a veil over their eyes.

But what’s grievous is when we can’t discern the dangerous ones with that veil.

And sometimes, it may be too late to identify them. Even when we open our eyes and get safely out of the darkness.

For they may have already identified us…


	20. The lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the first chapter for a cover of the story ^^ Why did I wait until now? Because of the spoiler as you see. Just like something will be added in the synopsis soon so the readers who followed the story so far don't get spoiled ;) 
> 
> To [SerAndersPoutyMouth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nuneenu1/pseuds/SerAndersPoutyMouth) Have a good rest my awesome mastermind and hope you enjoy <3 *insert hammer emoji and wicked laugh here*
> 
> Hope you all enjoy.

For Anders, the feeling of love was always a synonym of sacrifice, danger and broken hearts. It was not just because of what they taught him as a mage in the Circle, but out of personal experiences.

He had come to a resolution that he would never be able to experience the beautiful sides of love again anymore.

But as he woke up the next day snuggled in sinewy arms, he came across a sparkling new sensation out of this feeling of love.

And it was safety.

“Good morning,” Hawke’s voice came out in a quiet rumble as he cracked open an eye and noticed Anders was awake.  

Anders smiled as brightly as his freshly-out-of-slumber state could do and stirred with a soft _Mmm_.

“That is, if it’s really morning outside,” Hawke added, flexing his body draped against the blond mage.

Anders grinned and chuckled sheepishly. “How did you sleep?”

“Well actually…” Hawke drawled with muse, smiling, “Amazingly good. And you?”

“I’d say… wonderfully good.” Anders quipped with a lazy grin, skimming his fingers over Hawke’s back and drawing slow circles over his skin.

The dark haired man grinned widely. “Good. I guess we own Varric and Isabela an explanation.”

“Also a full night of guard-watch,” Anders added.

“Yes… You think they’re awake now?”

“I don’t know but we should rise up.”

“I think I’m still groggy. Maker, I’d kill for any kind of bed. That’s all I need right now.” He said, nudging Anders closer into his arms. 

Anders’ nimble fingers let loose a shimmying white light of vitality magic against the warrior’s back, making the latter sigh luxuriously. “Oh Maker, you’re a blessing.”

“Reinvigorated yet?”

“Feels like I just ate a horse.”

“Good, we need our fearless leader on his best form for what’s to come.”

“Fearless leader huh? You you’ve been hanging around Isabela a little too much,” bemused Hawke.

“She tends to coat it with more tropes but we can’t disagree with her on this one at least,” Anders replied with a smile.

“I should be making good morning love to you right now, not worry about darkspawn who may or may not eat us. They won’t even need to spit bits of clothes.”

“That’s the perks of making love in the Deep Roads. I think that will sound good on the resume that Varric is writing on you.”

Hawke chuckled deeply and pulled Anders over him until his torso was blanketed in blond limbs for one lasting passionate kiss.

 

***

 

“So…” Isabela drawled walking next to Anders, “How does it feel to get laid in the Deep Roads?”

Anders shook his head a little. It was so predictable he could almost laugh if he wasn’t so embarrassed. “I thought you’d go about it with more jibe.”

“Well I did have many other ways to break into the matter but I thought there was no need to beat into the bush. Right?”

“Right.” Anders nodded assent.

Hawke and Varric were a few feet ahead of them, following the unique passageway that was given to them. Around them only rocks and crumbled foundations. The head of his staff was lit and that helped a little. He guessed Varric was also prying from answers and that was only understandable. That was why he decided to detach from Hawke’s side to give them space and deal with their other friend.

“Listen, I do believe that we owe you an explanation since it wasn’t exactly fair by you to have to… listen to… whatever you heard.”

“Oh please, I’m not here to judge you or throw the first stone at you, honey; I pry because I want the details. You know, it’s not like we haven’t seen it coming. But I didn’t know you two were… so desperate about it to jump each other in the middle of darkspawn’s nest!” Isabela inquired with high eyebrows.

“Desperate? Uh, no, well, the thing is… none of it was planned. It just sort of happened… we were actually arguing,”

“That, we heard,” the pirate supplied factly.

“And um,” Anders fumbled with words. “We… I guess things escalated in an unexpectant way and Hawke confessed his feelings for me all of a sudden. And well, one thing led to another,”

“Are you really going to chop your words like mincemeat? Come on Anders, you used to be _all_ about details,” Isabela said with a huff and a nudge to Anders’ elbow. “So, more importantly, what I want to know is that out of pace moan you did at some point, that - _ah—mmgh—ahn!,_ ” Isabela simulated with every ounce of genuine commitment as she reproduced the said sound while Anders’ eyes bulged and blushed to the tip of his ear, “So is that when Hawke finally found you’re sweet spot?”

Anders spurted wordlessly, “Uh what—I—I don’t know, I… I don’t have to answer you that!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Isabela deduced smugly to herself.

Anders wondered if it he should have dealt with Varric instead.

“Anyways, how’s Hawke in sex? You have the right to answer me that. As you said, it wasn’t fair by us to listen to you screw away like two pent up wolves!” Isabela said, jabbing at Anders with an accusatory finger.

Anders sighed, swallowed and then thought what the heck. There wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. In fact Hawke was such a popular man – to be the one who had the privilege to bed him, it felt like a spark to his ego and he thought he might as well indulge in a little gloating.

He side-eyed Isabela with a borrow of her roguish smirk, “He’s pretty incredible.”

“Pretty?” Isabela grinned.

“Very,” Anders granted.

Isabela groaned low in her throat and threw her hands in the air, “Lucky bastard. And you had to go and make him fall for you.”

“Hey,” Anders furrowed disapprovingly at the slur, but then dawned on him what his friend just added, “What? What do you mean by that?”

“Oh sweetie, were you that oblivious? Our tiger have always had eyes for you only.” And Anders witnessed the first kindhearted smile on the pirate that was devoid of any slyness or mischievousness. Just a soft and honest smile that almost gave Isabela a whole new face.

“I… I don’t know… I would have never pretended him be interested in me in such a… romantic way.”

“I don’t see why honestly. You weren’t the one to give such low credits to yourself. Perhaps that spirit of yours settled where your self-esteem used to be,” she got a disgruntled frown but continued despite of it, “But Anders, you must believe it at least now - you are _still_ quite a catch.” She said conversionably and slid her arm around Anders’ in a companionable manner, winking at him.

Perhaps he should feel glad he was stuck with Isabela after all.

He chuckled humbly and tried to ebb the fluttery feeling of being flattered in such a sincere way. Isabela never lied about those little details that had become superficial to him through the years.

He ended up discovering that the part of him that fed on such flatters and compliments was still there somewhere. Dimmed but there when you knew how to scratch the walls surrounding it.

“Thank you, Isabela,” he said softly, genuinely.

“You welcome. Now how about reciprocating. Maker knows I need it now that Hawke has become officially out of my league,” she said in mock-exasperation, still clinging to Anders’ arm, “Unless… you wish to spice things up sometimes… by adding a third participant. Or shall I say a fourth—”

“Don’t!” Anders blurted, trying to put a hand on her mouth, “Don’t even try.” Then with a twitching brow, “And no, I think we’re good thank you.”

Isabela laughed a good belly laugh and mused, “Not even watch?”

“Not even watch,” Anders humored her, cracking a smile.

She pouted like a child denied a shiny toy, “No fun, I swear.” But she didn’t let go of Anders’ elbow.

“Then I’ll have to settle with my imagination. I already have a lot of sounding material to fill the bonus parts of Varric’s book.”

“Uh—pardon?”

Isabela hummed, “Oh you know, Varric’s book about our fearless tiger, I bet he’s currently extracting all the touchy feely details to make Hawke sounds like a true romantic hero beneath all that barbarian facade, and my duty is to feel the blanks. You know, the spicy blanks.”

“Oh Maker,” the mage sighed; then he turned his look ahead to where the dwarf and Hawke were walking side by side, clearly conversing. “You think that’s what they’re talking about?”

“Honey, that’s what all people will be soon talking about.” Isabela waved off with her hand. Then much to Anders’ depressive thoughts she added detachedly, “ _If_ we ever get out of this hole that is.”

 

***

 

“So you and Blondie, huh?” Varric pointed out with a dubious tone.

Hawke walking beside him didn’t pay it any heed. “Yeah.” he evenly intoned.

Varric looked up at him, trying not to pause in his gait. “Are you sure about this, Hawke? I mean… don’t you think it’s a little _too_ fast? Even for you.”

“I know,” Hawke said without removing his sight from the path before him. “I didn’t plan for things to escalate so quickly, but it happened. And I’m not going to complain about it.”

Varric sighed that long judgmental sigh of his and shook his head carefully, “That’s what I don’t get, Hawke. Why the rush? You know… he’s not really of stable grounds, we still don’t know much about that— thing, he carries in his head.”

“Justice didn’t cause any troubles if that what you’re worrying about. Everything went smoothly… normally,” Hawke replied with a tad of gruffness in his voice. He was starting to dislike his friend’s misplaced assumptions. “As for the rush, it’s probably a good thing, considering… my suspicions. I couldn’t let that opportunity pass me by. His head was already full of misunderstandings and I couldn’t prove him wrong without telling him the truth. Honestly, Varric. It has all been inevitable.”

“You mean the suspicions about the baskets he was receiving?” Varric said at length.

“Yes, amongst other things.”

“So… he was truly seeing someone?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t tell him that I knew about the gifts. Although I queried about it… and he said no.”

Varric watched him closely and after a minute, broke in, “But you don’t believe it.”

Silence. Then slowly, carefully, the warrior’s features darkened and an unsettled aura enfolded him, the aura of a suspicious man. “I don’t know.”

“Hawke, I’m your friend, right, and I do trust your instincts more often than not, and being as such, I feel like I need to warn you that this… whole rushed up liaison isn’t exactly one of your brightest idea—”

“Varric,” Hawke cut him off abruptly. And this time he turned to face the rogue. “I love him. Do you understand that? I love him. And my heart is at peace knowing he returns my feelings. So if you are really my _friend_ as you say, you’d stop flipping about it like I was some child and comprehended that too,” the warrior snapped in soft harshness to make sure the talk stayed between them.

Varric’s cunning eyes widened from the sudden rebuke and twitched his lips for a second before letting his shoulders sag with a big exhale. “Fine, Hawke. I understand. The signs were all there after all. I just… I just hope no one will get hurt on the long haul, that’s all. I don’t mean to pry.”

Hawke squared his shoulders and finally turned his eyes back on the road. His expression relaxed and after a while he said “I don’t mind a little prying. Just… do it right.” with a little smirk smoothing his not-so-subtle tone.

Varric tossed him a glance and then chuckled. The first earnest smile he cracked ever since they started to move forward. “Oh Hawke, I don’t think I’ll be needing that kind of details for my tale.”

“Honestly Varric, I have no idea what’s you’re cooking up in that book of yours.”

“I found something un-cut and raw and I’m polishing the edges a bit to make it the next bestseller.”

“You’ll talk about Anders?”

“I’m talking about every single one of our merry band of misfits, Hawke. And although Blondie makes of an already unique character, now he just ranked up to _the lover’s_ title.”

The warrior hummed to himself with a fond smile almost imperceptible behind his coarse beard. “I like the sound of that.”

Varric just shook his head again and tried to crack a smile for his friend’s sake.

 

***

 

They kept this stride for a while, stumbling here and there on rocks and cavities in the rocky pathway. Slowly, a sinister, uncanny silent encompassed the cavernous walls; the ghost of a hissing in the air subconsciously made them all on their guards. Anders found it most unsettling. He felt no darkspawn presence and there were no other monsters lurking around. It was all too unnatural.

But unnatural was what they were about to witness. Hawke narrowed his eyes first. A few feet away, down the tunnel, something had started to move. They all stopped at once and Anders was able to see pebbles and rocks – of all forms – piecing out together into a spidery form.

“What the—” Hawke hadn’t had time to finish when a projectile was flung his way.

“Holy shit,” Varric plastered against the nearby stone wall while Isabela, Anders and Hawke ducked down.

“What is this?” Anders exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, staff at the ready.

“Watch out!” Hawke yelled that last instruction before he dashed in singular warrior speed onwards. He rallied, jumped off his feet when he was close enough and brought his sword down in one polished slash, dispersing the shattered pieces of rocks everywhere.

Anders shot a cone of cold from his bare hand, in an attempt at stopping and shattering the rocks with the force of the ice. It functioned efficiently, and Hawke and Isabela worked quickly with their blades around the shapeless creatures. One of them formed at Varric’s heel, he was backed behind then quickly jumped backward to hit the thing with a bomb. It shrieked and exploded instantly, but its brothers reassembled again raced blindly on makeshift rock legs towards them.

Anders unleashed a shield around them all and continued attacking, spell and after spell, while Mind Blasting the closest ones to stagger for Hawke to take down.     

Thankfully, nothing reconstituted after the second wave.

“Fuck,” Hawke cussed breathlessly, sword in one hand, ready for any other bad surprises.

 Anders imbued his friends one by one with healing auras, “Is everyone all right?”

Hawke breathed a “Yeah,” watching as the gash in his arm closed on its own.

Isabela groaned, dusting off her scanty clothes. “I didn’t sign up for this Hawke, so to tell you. What in Andraste’s frilly panties was that?!”

“I’ve never seen that kind of creatures myself. And I roamed the Deep Roads for weeks with the Wardens,” Anders added.

“I have no clue. Let’s take a moment to get our breath back.”

“Good idea,” mumbled Varric.

Hawke approached Anders, “All right?”

“Yes. Hawke, you don’t know where we’re going, do you.” It wasn’t a question. More like a cynical confirmation. Hawke was no expert of the Deep Roads; he was just a fit and strong leader. And the combination was enough for the rest to follow on his sturdy built back. But for how long.

Hawke sighed. The motion hunching the strong shoulders Anders liked to rely on. “We’ll find a way out, don’t worry. If we keep thinking about the inverse, we’ll never make it out of here and if the moral is down, so will be the strength to fight, and we _need_ the strength to fight, ‘cause we don’t know what’s awaiting us behind the next stone.”

Anders’ lips parted in amazement. That was why the man didn’t join their grumbles and complains of lost cause. Hawke was trying to keep his morals unwavering. Not to give in to the increasing crippling worry and panic.

To keep up.

Stay strong.

An emboldened glacier.

For their safety. For his promise of being there for him. And Anders’ world steadied back.

Hawke was their rock. Unconsciously. Unanimously.

Anders leaned to kiss him. Hawke went with the motion uncomplaining and winged an arm around Anders in return. Anders’ cheeks heated. Drinking into Hawke’s unswerving heroic aura was something that would always weaken him in the knees and somehow reinvigorate him to the same degree.

“You are right.” He parted lips with him to shake his head and softly snorted through his nose, “You’re definitely right. I… I believe in you,” he said and Hawke eyed him with this fond expression that would never cease to faintly take him by surprise. 

The moment that encompassed them in that second was thick and heavy, crawling onto Anders’ skin and making his blood run fast. He smiled up at him when he felt Hawke nudging his body closer.

“Anders—”

“Hawke you got to see this.”

That was from Varric. Hawke whipped his head away. Fuck. Varric officially owed him.

“What is it?” But Hawke unhooked the arm that was circling his waist, giving it a last squeeze.

“There is a wide entrance from where these blighters came from. Looks like one of those chambers from the thaig and it’s better lightened.”

“No more narrow tunnels you mean?”

“Nope.”

Then Hawke turned to face Anders, “You ready to go?”

“Yes.”

They resumed their stride where it had been suspended and finally made it to the end of the tunnel with a stairway from where the rocky creatures had appeared.

They found themselves in a large chamber of some kind. The crimson red roots twisting around the columns that were scattered around the area looked like the sight of the thaig they had found with the expedition.

It was so gloomy Anders’ hair stood on ends and Hawke reached with his hand to the hilt of his sword protruding from his shoulder. Then as they all foreboded, rocks pieced together again.

“Fuck,” Hawke muttered and drew back to put some distance while fully withdrawing his sword. Varric backed up and was the first to throw a small bomb, exploding some of the creatures before they achieved their final form. That was when they heard a booming voice echoing out of nowhere

“Enough!”

And suddenly, the ground beneath their feet trembled as before them, a figure the size of an ogre started to take shape with a massive amount of giant rocks and boulders.

The four companions stood agape and frozen to the spot as the thing pieced together into arms and legs with a small skull head and a humanoid ribcage shimmering gold at its center.

Anders’ eyes were the only thing moving in him. And that was all because blinking was something he had no control over.

“You have proven your mettle. I will not see these creatures harmed without need,” the creature said when it completed its final form, a vibrant yellow gleam in the middle of the fissured skull piercing them like a glare.

Anders felt Justice’ presence strong and close to the surface. Warning and bewaring. Whatever that thing was, it radiated a something noxious that was akin of a demon.

Hawke took a bold step forward upon hearing the rock demon stipulation. “They attacked us first so we’re defending ourselves. Keep your distance.” He said with his most deep menacing tone, eyes still narrowed precariously on the watch out.

“They will not assault you further, not without my permission.” Came the heavy graveling voice.

Varric turned to Hawke, “What are these things? They seems like rock wraiths but—”

“They hunger,” the demon said factually. “The profane has lingered in this place for ages beyond the memory, feeding on the magic stones until the need is all they know…”

“The lyrium? That’s what sustains them,” Hawke prompted with a furrow.

“I am not as they are. I am… a visitor,” the demon said.

Anders bristled. “It seems mostly interested their hunger. It’s a demon, come to feed.”

“I will not see my feast end.” He said solemnly, then appeased to a twisted kind of a mollifying tone saying, “I sense your desire, you seek to leave this place, but you will need my aid to do so.”

“Don’t do it,” Anders turned to Hawke with a grave frown, “Demons will trip you up every time.”

Hawke faced him with an even stare and something calm and soothing passed over his features as if the man had completely forgotten about the current situation and his surroundings. But it lasted a second or two all the same and he was back facing the huge rock demon coldly. He arched a calculating eyebrow. “Why do we need your aid to leave?”

“There is another door that leads into the paths far above us. That is what you seek. It has been sealed, however, and cannot be opened without a key. I know where the key is. Do as I ask and I shall tell you.”

“Hum so what do you think?” Varric prompted to Hawke.

“We kill it and find that way out.”

“Most unwise.” Was the evenly reply of the creature before it braced itself back for battle.

That was it. Anders called on defensive spells to entrance Hawke, Isabela and Varric as he backed off.

Hawke pitched to the side just when Varric threw a bomb at the foot of the demon. He bellowed and staggered and Hawke was quick to his feet, swinging from behind him and delivering a slashing to his gleaming ribcage.

Meanwhile Isabela dealt with the profanes coming to help the hunger demon, flying with her agility and her two daggers and slashing left and right, kicking with her foot and using her swiftness to lure them. Anders helped her by landing a paralyzing glyph from where the profanes came from and turned his way toward Hawke and Varric who were engaging the demon from back and front.

The thing was strong. With all the boulders forming his body, it was hard to stay close to it without risking being smacked viciously away with a boulder-arm. Suddenly Anders had an idea. He canalized an icy fire spell on the dragon’s head tip of his staff, until he felt the two extremities of the most brutal elements about to burst.

When the trajectory before him was clear, Anders unleashed it fiercely, slicing the air around him with his staff as he swirled and brandished it forth towards the creature.

The dreadful clash of fire and ice hit the bared artificial ribcage like a thunderous storm and the demon pulled a raged roar of pain. It was almost done.

Anders watched big eyed as the demon staggered violently and Hawke sprinting and jumping on a high pile of rocks to jump a second time and then a third, leaping with a roar in the air on the hunger demon’s head and bringing his sword in a vertical slice over the skull.

The thing shrilled in agony at the simultaneity of the two powerful hits. But in the blur of the action, the demon threw a giant arm in a wide arc, and the thick boulder collided with Hawke, sending him violently flying in the air as if he was weightless and smashing him against a wall to finally fall viciously on his back over a heap of rocks and even the fighting sounds couldn’t camouflage the sickening crunch of bones. Anders cried out his name in shock.

The demon died but let behind him an arcane horror that emerged from thin air as soon as the hunger demon fell. Anders had to tear his eyes from Hawke because the demon seemed to target him. Lost in the whirlwind of emotions, it was thanks to Varric who shouted his name that the mage came back to his senses and casted an arcane fortress over himself, repelling the hit.

Fear and anger blended into a new source of energy and Anders didn’t take notice of anything anymore as he fired stripes of electricity at horror in inhuman quickness - Justice showing off just what he was capable of when he was pissed. The demon didn’t last another three seconds. As soon as the mayhem died around them, Anders ran to Hawke’s side, glad and dreadful at how the man hadn’t budged from his spot ever since he hit the concrete.

“Hawke! Garrett—love, answer me,” Anders cupped his face, hands already glowing.

“Fuckk—Anders—”

“I’m here,”

“My back—fuck, it fucking hurts,” Hawke hissed.

Anders was at least thankful to Hawke for being able to state where it hurt. It’ll help him focus his energy on the damaged spot rather than just infuse him with magic aimlessly. “All right, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” He glanced down and saw that his leg was also injured. His trousers had ripped holes at the legs that were bloodied. He felt the right leg’s tendons insides were broken too when he reached for more mana for his healing. But he decided to start with what Hawke seemed to judge primordial to groan out alarmingly.

“Anders, my back hurt so much—” Hawke gritted his teeth in silent agony.

“I’m on it, hold on a little for me,” Anders said hastily with fidgeting fingers working restlessly all over Hawke’s torso. He narrowed his eyes in deep concentration. Then bright shimmering blue radiated from the blond mage’s hands, casting eerie shadows against the rock walls, drawing the rest of the companions nearer but silent.

“Argh— shit. It hurts!”

“I know, because it’s a lot of healing going into one spot and also because the bones are in a pretty bad shape to say the least.”

“Ughn… I need to replace this breastplate. It’s not what it used to be anymore.” Hawke said between huffs, trying to divert his attention from the pain in his back. And he was right. That armor was all Hawke was wearing ever since he met Anders and after all they went through in just the last weeks, it was poorly battered.

“I’m going to miss it. It showed off your built so nicely,” Isabela quipped softly, clearly trying to cheer up the mood by the looks of her tight smile.

“Do any of you need healings?” Anders said, lifting his head off Hawke for the first time.

“Nah, nothing a potion and some elfroot couldn’t heal, Blondie, just put our Hawke back in one piece,” waved off Varric lightly.

Hawke’s face was all tight muscles as he suppressed the pain as best as he could. But surely, as the magic seeped into the flesh and gristle and into the harmed bones, fixing them back together, the pain dwindled bit by bit.

Hawke groaned low in his throat. “Hold on, Garrett, it’s the last of it now.”

Hawke cracked an eye open and surveyed Anders. “You’re sweating.”

“Just concentration.”

“Take some lyrium. Varric, hand him some.”

Varric shuffled out of Anders’ vision and came up with a vial of lyrium that he handed him.

“I don’t want you to collapse because of me.” Hawke said.

“No, it’s not your fault, Garrett. And Justice is with me.” But he took the lyrium and drank it gladly.

They both felt it when it was close to the end. The pain subsided and the healed bones were back in place under Anders’ spirited touch.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“It… it’s healed. Shit. It’s completely healed.” Hawke reiterated with something close to bafflement in his tone, eyes wide and finally breaking into a relieved grin.

Anders drank the last half of lyrium and turned instantly to Hawke’s leg. A hand fell on his side-waist. He turned. Hawke looked at him intensely and said “Thank you.”

Anders returned to look with a smile and it was all he needed, truly. He set to work on the leg – which wasn’t as bad looking as the back injury – and the stress and tension finally begun to quell for Anders. Justice withdrew back from where he was landing his willpower close to the surface and everything around them calmed.

No more grunts of pain, no more frightening injuries, no more demons, no more fear.

He was safe again. Hawke was safe again. They were all safe and sound and Anders’ heart finally breathed.

They had decided to set camp and take forces where they stood in the end.

“You’re a blessing.” Came out Hawke’s deep voice from behind Anders with a kiss to his coatless shoulder.

They were sitting a few feet away from the bonfire, sharing their sleeping bags. “What?” Anders said pleasantly as he craned his head to look over at the other man.

Hawke didn’t stop there and kept pecking on his shoulder and up his ear. “I was saying how much of a blessing you were.”

Anders turned fully to face a half leaning Hawke on his elbow, legs sprawled in front of him, naked but of his pants and undershirt. He smiled and skewed to steal a kiss of his own. “What does that mean?”

“Beside the fact that you’re absolutely gorgeous, you had to be a healer too.” The warrior said with nibbles against the blond’s ear.

Anders chuckled contentedly in his arms and quipped, “Are those my only attributes?”

Hawke seized him firmly in his arms and leaned him his on his back before joining him in the horizontal position on top of him and attacking his mouth. “And kind, and strong and perfect,” he kept saying between kisses. Anders squirmed jubilantly beneath him, laughing as hands paraded smoothly around his hips and the beard tickled his face.

“Garrett!” Anders tittered.

“And did I say gorgeous?”

Anders let out a soft chortle, “Twice now.”

“Stunning then. Perfect,” Hawke said and Anders had in mind to call him down on his repetition again, but then he lifted his head and saw Hawke’s face when he said the last word. And it was not short of breath-catching. His eyes seemed to seek the essence of that word and the core of its meaning.

So firm and so hot, his eyes. Anders believed that if there wasn’t a real bonfire crackling a few steps away from them, Hawke would have conjured that glow inside of them with his own willpower.

It wasn’t a witty retort Hawke needed right now. Anders cradled his bearded face in both hands and drew him down to him in a passionate kiss. The kind he hadn’t forgot how to give to show his gratitude. Only this time, it was more than gratitude. It was gratitude laced with buoyant _love_. 

“I love you,” Anders said in between the slotted lips.

Hawke didn’t find a way to respond so he did it with the rest of his body parts that weren’t impassionedly occupied. He pulled Anders flush against him and turned them on their side, still locked by profound kissing and skimming a hand down the hem of Anders’ breeches, gliding them down along with the smalls all while snaking a thigh between the mage’s legs.

It was dark enough to see visibly the subtlety of their nakedness and position, even though anyone that wasn’t a halfwit could have guessed what was going on.

Anders’ breath hitched against Hawke’s lips when he felt fingers sliding inside him softly. Each swallowed each other’s moans as their bodies rubbed together. Slipping under the cover of one of the sleeping bag, they wriggled and squirmed until Anders was plastered flush atop of Hawke’s whole body. The blond man brought his legs on each side of Hawke’s thigh bracketing him while still leaning against his torso. It was an arousing position; Anders didn’t know when Hawke had slid his pants down too but as soon as he felt their cocks rubbing against each other, Anders thought he must have done it at some irrelevant point.

They kept squirming against each other while still kissing messily – Hawke’s hand still fingering Anders in a slow pace to match their sensual grounding, and it was perfect.

It was not like their first time, which was filled with whispered declarations of love between frenzied up kisses and limb-adjusting.

“Maker, we’re so shameless… I— _mmh_ —I can’t believe we’re doing this in the open,” Anders said but still unable to keep his voice from sounding blithesome.

Hawke only hummed low in his throat, “I think it’s a little too late to think that.”

“I know, but still…”

“Still…?” Hawke chuckled.

“It’s inappropriate towards them.”

“As I said, it’s too late for that empathic thought, but they’re away. And they’re adult enough to know it’s not time to interrupt.”

“Garrett Hawke, is that your way of convincing people to have public sex with you?”

“Semi-public sex. We’re not really trying to put on a show. Are we?” Hawke inquired, grinning sultry.

“Maker, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the exhibitionist kind,” Anders murmured trying to keep his laughing to a minimum.

“It has to do with who I’m exhibiting,” he whispered back.

“Can I join?” they suddenly heard. Isabela. Who else.

Anders had time to gasp and splutter before Hawke vividly rebuked, “No!” He paused and then added, “And no peeking!”

“Spoilsport!” she called back and they could almost hear Varric’s loud drawn sigh. “Well, at least I tried. But you can’t stop me from eavesdropping!”

“Oh Maker, this is unbelievable.” And Anders hid his face in his hands.

But Hawke was so amused by the situation he couldn’t stop laughing as mutedly as he could, still holding Anders and still playing with his ass. And Anders couldn’t really resent him that because Hawke’s laughter as subdued as it was, was really something else. As if Hawke was free of any silently proclaimed leadership of this abysmal expedition.

And now, not only could he could kiss him, but he could also taste that unbidden laughter in his lips.

The sensual mood was back again when Anders did just that. They were not exactly comfortable on the hard rocky ground. They were not completely naked like their first time as their shirts were still on and their pants were hanging down their thighs. But they were in each other arms. And even comfort couldn’t stand a chance over the thick potency of _desire_ emanating from them.

It was so powerful. Everything about their embrace was fervid. As if each of them still couldn’t believe it was happening. It was reciprocated. So the simplest motions needed to be felt in the core of the body to feel real. That was why it was so powerful.

Hawke used Anders’ balm of elfroot they kept near them to prepare his member. Anders brought one leg on top of Hawke’s thigh for this latter to have access to the juncture of Anders’ thighs and the dip behind the taint. They were still on their sides and none of them seemed to want a change into a more conventional, classic position. That way felt as if they were blocking everything outside their interlaced embrace.

After properly stroking himself with his slicked hand, Hawke nudged Anders even closer to pose his cock against his entrance. They were both breathing in deep huffs and pants, anticipation and excitement and nothing else at the moment.

Anders’ face pinched a little at the first intrusion. Hawke was… well-endowed was already a statement. But once inside, and past the initial twinge of pain, Hawke’s girth felt extremely good. And it wasn’t like the blond man didn’t like a bit of pain with his pleasure when the mood called for it. And although Hawke was very careful with him, he knew that the man was capable of more… roughness, if Anders coveted it.

“ _Ahn_ ,” Anders gasped lowly as a shiver shot through his spine and he gripped on Hawke’s neck to pull him nearer – if that was even possible – with the long limb that was over the warrior’s thigh.

“Fuck—you feel so good…” Hawke breathed and started a rhythm with his hips. His hands snaked down Anders’ tunic and around the mage’s back to hold him close to his hot breath, to the iris of his dilated eyes, to his sternum.

They rocked like that, side by side, face to face, panting into one another’s mouth, kissing like there was no tomorrow, and the considerably palpable threat of that fact didn’t make that metaphor be so…  metaphoric.

“It won’t happen again,” Hawke whispered suddenly with his gritty voice laced with arousal.

“Huh?”

“What happened to me.That fall. Won’t happen again,” and punctuated with a sudden jut to his hips as if marking his words.

Anders caught the jolt of pleasure first as his voice escaped a very lewd moan before it caught on Hawke’s words. “What— what do you mean it won’t happen again?”

“I wasn’t careful and that’s intolerable… And because of me… you had to exhaust and drain yourself of your mana to heal me.”

Anders tried to focus on the prattle chopped with guttural pants and huffs but Hawke also hadn’t stopped moving inside him and teasing his prostate with halfway hits so instead he kissed his moist lips shut. “What are you saying, it wasn’t your fault, you—you couldn’t foresee it… and it’s my job to heal you… There’s no ‘because of you’s…”

“But still, I should have been vigilant… you cannot fix me all the time.”

“Haw—Garrett, for Andraste’s sake,” and he moaned mid-sentence because he was so turned on and this was ridiculous. “Fixing you is not a burden, it’s what I’m meant to do. I’m a spirit healer and I _like_ fixing people. And _you_ are not made of iron— _mmh_ —expect maybe that lower part of yours _ohh_ —but you can’t be perfect all the time,” he cradled Garrett’s face lovingly, “No one is. And frankly, I’m glad you aren’t… because Maker knows I’m far from being perfect.”

“You’re perfect to me.” 

“Oh, Garrett,” Anders smiled licentiously, lips parted as he still panted from the pressure of the man’s cock inside him. The sinuous pleasure added to the heartfelt declaration flooded entirely his senses, making the loam of his mind backwards in ecstasy, and he leaned to kiss Hawke like he never kissed him before. Carding his fingers through the thick sweaty tendrils of his hair, kissing him so blithely, as if Hawke’s lips were the key for freedom’s come.

“I love you,” husked Hawke over their seared mouths while bucking his hips with more keenness and valiancy; wanting to give it to him good, to be the one to conquer his body and the one to make Anders slip those needy puffs of moist air with every thrust.

“Ah _, oh, oh! Garrett_  I’m so close… fuck— _mmgh, yes,”_

“Fuck—” Hawke twined one hand between their sweaty bodies and started to stroke Anders vigorously, following the crescendo of his own hips until Anders let out a wavering _aah_ and breathed a hedonistic sigh in the crook of his neck in the same moment Hawke released, hips still jerking away with every rope of cum bursting in the tight hotness of Anders’ insides.    

They stayed an elastic moment in the same position as things quelled into a snug appeasement; their foreheads touching as they found their normal breathing back.

After a while, the warrior announced softly, “I’m going try and catch some sleep for the next night watch.” he kissed Anders’ hair and slid off his hole with a _mmm_ , “I told Varric I’ll take the next one. After all I don’t want to sound like an asshole who gets laid _and_ skips a night watch,” he said with a lazy grin.

“Does that make me an asshole too?”Anders retorted playfully with a chuckle.

“A gorgeous asshole.” Hawke kissed him on the lips and nuzzled him closer.

“Maker, that’s what I call pillow talk,” Anders laughed lowly.

Hawke engulfed his mouth in a languorous open-mouthed kiss, “Oh I can pillow talk to you all you want,” he said with a swipe of tongue inside Anders’ mouth.

“Mmm… yes… but you know, I don’t sense anything here,” Anders told him softly, “I mean, even when there weren’t darkspawn ahead, there’s always the thrumming of their presence in the skirts. But here… there’s nothing.”

“Perhaps that demon was keeping them away from this place,” pondered Hawke.

“Perhaps… Garrett?”

“Mm?”

“You think we’ll get out of here?”

Hawke caressed knuckles against one pale cheek and looked deep into the other man’s eyes. “We will find a way out. There’s always a way out.”

Anders wasn’t sure about the certainty of that assertion but Maker how nice the way Hawke adamantly believed it felt. He could almost bask in it, close his eyes with nary a second thought and follow the man blindfolded.

Anders nodded. At the same time he felt Justice shift restlessly inside. All the while, Anders had felt his discontent throughout the sex and now the spirit wasn’t less ticked off.

The warrior was a distraction, he kept reiterating and Anders kept sending remote, detached thoughts like ‘It’s all right’ and ‘we can trust him’ and ‘He’s good’ because the forefront of Anders’ brain was primly swimming in lukewarm pleasures.

“Good night,” he said at length when he realized that he had diverged in thoughts and the dark haired man’s eyes were starting to close. He caressed Hawke cheek and kissed him one last time, “I love you.”

“Love you…” those thin lips murmured back.

 

***

 

The next day saw them striding again. They followed the path they recalled the hunger demon pointing at when he spoke of a way toward an exit.

They walked for an hour approximately into another of those narrow and darkened passages that provided no light. Anders walked side by side with Hawke, as the latter kept his sword in hand, foreboding anything jumping on them from the darkness. They arrived at a couple makeshift rocky stairway at last, and upon taking them found themselves in another chamber, similar to where they found the hunger demon but much more vast. Not much lit though.

“What is this place?” Hawke asked, looking around.

“This is the vault. The dwarves would have brought their—” Varric stopped a sound surprised them from behind. They all turned simultaneously and froze at once as rocks and boulders pieced together creating a colossal demon similar to the last they battled – only this one stood dreadfully higher and stockier than an ogre with a crimson red glow in its head and a parody of a red-gleaming ribcage again, so vivid, it bathed them all in its blood-like glow as they watched agape.

“Oh, this can’t be good,” was the only thing that came from Varric’s mouth as he blindly picked up his crossbow. 

“Anders, hit from afar. Isabela, Varric cover my back,” Hawke dictated, eyes on the alarming target. It was the last words uttered since the demon didn’t want or seem to be able to talk like its predecessor, before it growled at them and vanished to reappear on their right.

Hawke shirked and they all grudgingly fell into battle trance. Anders recoiled to the left and washed the room in a haste and heroic aura. He watched as Hawke dodged, Isabela flitting with the velocity spell increasing her stealth and Varric firing a string of arrows into the glowing ribcage.

The demon batted the ground with a gigantic arm, howled, then suddenly vanished again, leaving behind him a shaking ground gleaming dangerously.

“Watch out!” Anders screamed in panic. But his companions weren’t less of veterans and well-seasoned in battle. Isabela and Varric’s roguish senses made them evade the danger with dexterity. Hawke on the other side did something unimaginable. He threw his sword into one of the colonnades wrapped in those red, fat roots. It stabbed the root and hung there. Then Hawke darted and threw himself in the air like a bolt, catching the hilt of the two-handed sword just when an electrical red tension surged from the ground, shaking the stones and cracking the sol from underneath.

Anders couldn’t believe his eyes. Suddenly the demon cropped up again, appearing to be reassembling forces. Anders’ astounded state was quickly broke off when Hawke cried out, “Anders! Can you neutralize him?” he had jumped down, sword gripped in both hands and was focusing on every move the huge wraith demon was making.

Anders immediately thought of a paralyzing glyph but then reflected of something better. Something that will also help to crush it. He reached deep into his arcane force and channeled a Crushing Prison spell on this hands. Meanwhile the creature was still battling two rogues and suddenly, just when the demon was about to repeat his ground shattering attack, Anders lashed his arms onward and unleashed the arcane spell straight into the shimmering ribcage.

It stopped and staggered the demon backwards and that was when Anders made a vicious pull with his hand as if tearing some invisible cloth and roared as the pain took him by surprise.

The crushing prison was one of the most violent spell that existed. Learned only in theory at the Circle and rarely used by Anders himself - preferring creation and elements and even spirits because it was cleaner than a spell that crushed then exploded the enemy’s guts and viscera from inside out. And still, being the rebellious mage that he still was and refusing to be forbidden something that was innate and gifted to him out of many, he learned it just for the sheer pleasure that he _could_. 

But the spell alone wasn’t enough to bring the rock demon down and that Hawke was aware of.

So he waited for the moment he judged it perfect and outright dashed forward with a surprising renewed vigor, escalated a pile of rock, and with a spectacular élan from it, launched in the air with a battle cry like a bat out of the void– so high, as if wings spurted on his back to take flight, long sword clasped in both hands behind him in an aerial attack that aimed for the red ribcage that was the only thing not made of boulder.

The telekinetic prison effectively _crushed_ the creature’s capacities and Hawke gave it the final kill.

The demon shattered to pieces as Hawke let go of his sword in the air to use his both hands to deaden the fall, and landed in a semi-gracious roll behind where the demon had stood.

There was a silence between them all that lasted five to six seconds before Hawke climbed up on his two feet and looked at Anders, Isabela and Varric’s intact selves and then slowly grinned the most shit-eating grin ever seen splitting the warrior’s face.

And that was how everyone’s muscles relaxed and Anders shook out of his still dazed stupor ever since Hawke jumped off in the air.

Hawke collected his sword and strode towards them, looking each in the eye before taking Anders in his arms. “This time I was careful,” he said solemnly into the embrace.

“Ahem, not to be a killjoy, but you’re monopolizing the only healer around and I think I dislocated a shoulder,” Isabela said with charm. But Anders automatically pulled off and flipped around to face the rogue.

“Let me see.” 

“I thought rock wraiths were supposed to be dwarven legends. There’re not supposed to be even real!” Varric said and he and Hawke walked away from them to inspect the path until they stopped at once.

“Maker’s breath, look what it was guarding!” Varric exclaimed, making Isabela turn to see from behind her shoulder. The healing was finished and they joined the two men to see what stopped them abruptly only to stop abruptly on their turn.

In a darkened corner, piles of gold, jewels, treasures chests and artifacts of all kind and shapes stared back at them. Hawke’s eyes bulged as he took a visible inhale. “We did it.”

He turned to face them and finally the silent surprise was broken, leaving space to the most genuine wide grins. “We did it!” and this time, it was laced with more blast and zeal and Anders was all astounding smiles until he was suddenly pulled into a bear-hug embrace by the dark haired man, taking his breath away and making him drop his staff to the ground.

Isabela let out genuine belly laugh of sheer delight at the sight before them and Varric couldn’t suppress his chortling at Hawke carrying Anders by the waist and spinning him around.

“Maker’s breath!” Anders chocked in laughter as Hawke spun him around some more.

Hawke mirthfully repeated, “We did it!” before finally putting the blond mage down. He kissed him fiercely one last time and turned to eye their new found treasure.

“I can scarcely believe it,” Anders breathed. He had never seen so much gold in his entire life. He turned to see his lover and saw how Hawke’s eyes practically shone with thrill and delight.

Hawke turned abruptly and surprised Isabela with a very manly one handed hug that would have sent bolt of pains to her shoulder if Anders hadn’t thoroughly healed it. He detached from her as quickly, leaving a chuckling Isabela to next clap Varric’s shoulder quite sturdily. He smiled down at him with his most pleased smirk and Varric couldn’t help but return it with his trademark roguish grin.

Finally he returned to Anders’ side, “You are the best companions,” and announced with loftiness, “We reached the vault. This is all _ours_.”

Isabela dived first and they followed, looking around at all the shininess surrounding them.

“By Andraste’s little panties, I could buy another ship again. Better, I could build a whole new one for myself.” Isabela mused with thrill. “Remind me to always trust your guts, Hawke,” she said from behind her shoulder with a grin that should have been wicked but was too blissful to even keep the pirate’s characteristic persona.

The only thing Anders was seeing is how much good it will do to Lirene and her shop and the clinic and the _mage’s underground_.

“I think I found something interesting,” Varric turned and with a sheet in his hand.

“Are those…?” Anders started.

“Yep. Seems to be a map of this place. And that’s not all, there was this next to them,” he said, showing off an iron key in his palm.

“The key that hunger demon spoke of,” Hawke declared with satisfaction. Anders’ heart skipped a beat with the elation he felt at finally being able to leave that nightmarish place. He would hold on that key and maps alone if it meant he couldn’t carry a single sovereign with him.

Hawke found a two-handed sword, completely intact with a striking hilt and tribal patterns trimmed in the middle bump of the metal. Anders could see from where he stood that Hawke had immediately claimed it with his eyes.

“Look at this!” Varric said, picking up something from the pile. It was a golden crown. A golden crown ornamented with rubies and diamonds all around it. “I think you should wear it, Hawke,” but Isabela snatched it with a chuckle and approached Anders instead.

 “No, I think it would suit sparklefingers better,” she smirked and put the crown with no more ceremony over his head. “After all didn’t you tell us that people have mistaken you for the king of Ferelden more than once?”

“Well now the illusion is complete, thanks to you!” he jested with laughter.

“It looks good on you,” Hawke quipped, approaching him, new-found sword in hand. It made Anders duck his head with a blush, chuckling even more. The crown didn’t even slip off.

“Aww, aren’t you two painting quite the chivalric picture.” Isabela crooned. “You should definitely keep the sword and crown for yourselves!”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s not a safe idea for Blondie to stroll in Darktown with a golden crown on his head,” Varric chimed, “For… life-sustaining reasons. Although that sounds like a nice dare!”

Isabela waved him off, “No, I meant keep them for when they’d want to spice up things a little and play knight and princess in distress.”

“I hardly look like a princess,” Anders replied with a put out expression but Hawke was quick to smooth away the pout on his lips with a bemused chuckle and a nurturing kiss.

“Indeed, princesses are boring, and you are far from boring.”

They exchanged a soft kiss that was dangerously deepening and Varric groaned hiding his eyes while sneaking peeks from between his gloved fingers playfully, “Please, no pants coming off, boys,”

“Please yes!” Isabela cheered. Anders was chuckling into the kiss up until Hawke dipped him all of a sudden, still kissing and he unwittingly escaped a squeak.

Isabela let out a bark of laugh and even Varric couldn’t help but do the same at the ridiculous tableau of a sword-carrying Hawke kissing a princess-like crowned Anders amidst a pile of gold.

“The only thing we’re missing is a painter to immortalize this moment,” snickered Varric.

There, dipped in Hawke’s arms, with a crowned head, Anders was a bubbly plethora of mirth and laughter unlike he ever been. Unlike he ever dreamed to be in the Deep Roads of all places.

 

***

 

The feeling of safety.

It’s something we all search for.

And we find it when knowing we’re desired.

When we overcome our fears.

Or when we find the strength to lead and fight for the ones we love.

But the danger with this feeling of safety,

Is that it can sometimes prove to be misleading.


	21. The gross truth

A week later and they got out of the Deep Roads. It was under a blissful sunny blue sky when their feet first hit the surface; and Anders’ first doing was to raise his chin high and let the morning sun soak into every pore on his face and the crispy air of whatever part of the Vimmark Mountains they found themselves exited to, flurry through his hair.

Varric sprawled on the grass and commented on how he had never wanted to fall into the sky so badly.

Isabela cheered to the trees with a sack full of jewelries which she couldn’t leave and wait for the help Hawke had promised to send to hoist up everything that was left.

Hawke too, grinned complacently at his successful plan, his own personal new boardsword that he couldn’t leave with its striking sigils markings and hilt strapped to his back and his own Ferelden greatsword in his hand, turned to share his happiness with his new lover.

And Anders smiled broadly at their safe and sound state, at their successful journey and at the sparkling grays beaming at him.

When you are so immersed with joy, it is only natural that you don’t pay attention - and often find a reason to finally let your guard down for that one buoyant instant where everything is wonderfully perfect.

In fact, nobody thinks of evil up till the day it presents itself at our door…

Hawke drew him into a kiss, dropping his sword to the grass.

“Feels good to kiss you under the sun,” Anders bemused with a smile.

“And soon, it will feel good on a proper bed too,” Hawke replied.

… Something that was soon about to happen.    

***

 

“Dad, it’s all right.”

“But I had wanted you to meet so much. It’s such…” Hayden put his hands on his hair in a flustered up manner, “… a shame.”

It had been a month that Hayden had waited for Anders’ return. The truth was that he heard that the dwarven expedition had returned weeks ago but there had been no trace of neither Anders nor Hawke or his other two companions. He couldn’t even reach the leader of the expedition and from what he gathered from a certain merchant dwarf, they had been separated because they’ve been stuck on the other side of a giant wall. Although his son kept repeating that they were fine in that cryptic voice and Hayden had been truly lost and appalled. 

Something inside him wanted to believe the peculiar boy. Something inside him still tugged on the strings of hope. He could find the hope in him; even if the whole _Deep Roads_ thing made it slightly difficult. Out of all the places it had to be the most dangerous of all. _Fuck_. 

It was the reason he waited. The reason Lane had stayed more than he ever prolonged his stay in the City of Chains. 

Inside him, something refused to let it go. It just categorically _refused_.

But Lane was another matter.

“I know, but you know that I can’t stay any longer here,” he softly responded, sitting on the sofa of the templar’s living space.

Hayden paced with a frowned expression. He said with knotted reluctance, “I do know that.”

“But I really wished to meet him too.”

“I know, that’s why it’s more of a shame…” Knowing there was nothing he could add and no way out of the situation, Hayden just stopped his pacing and let out a resigned sigh. “I wanted you to be there when I told him everything. He would have understood – he would have liked you.” His voice ebbed into a sad tone as he said the last words.

Lane watched as Hayden’s shoulders slouched increasingly and his brows scrunched in a disgruntled dramatic line. He wished he could stay. His father had told him so much about the man. He was a mage, a healer of a humble living from what he saw when Hayden took him to see where the mage lived - A free clinic where he healed not only the helpless but anyone who stumbled through his doors. He seemed to be a good person and Lane truly wanted meet or only see the face of this person who brought his father so much happiness at last.

Yes, he truly felt grateful and it was truly a shame but.

He also couldn’t stay indefinitely.

“I’m sorry, dad. But you know if don’t take this ship today, there won’t be another to Ferelden for a long while and I can’t stay here.”

Hayden looked up at him and eased down a smile around his frustrated features, “I will miss you.”

The young boy’s smile was like watching the blossoming of a flower under the first rays of sun in slow motion. “I will miss you too.”

“Perhaps you could… come again, later when the winter passes?”

Lane didn’t usually spend more than two weeks in the City of Chains. But he did now for the soil reason of seeing what brought the light back in his father’s eyes. Because Hayden wanted to share his happiness and Lane couldn’t - wouldn’t - deny him that. 

But, still. Lane wasn’t ready to mingle with… people - yet. And out of all the places he’d wished to start in, Kirkwall was the last on the nonexistent list. And all of it showed on his face as it regressed with an astray expression.

Hayden didn’t need to contemplate it twice. “It’s all right, you’re not obligated to if you feel uncomfortable,” and with a hopeful smile added, “It’s not that important after all.”

It was. It was every time his father spoke of the man. It was. It showed. It still showed.

“I’ll come,” he uttered. “When winter passes, and if you still want me to come, I’ll come. I promise.”

Hayden fell to his knees to hug his son. “That’s a good plan,” he said with a voice filled with a thousand palpable smiles, “Thank you.”

Yes, Lane thought to himself. He would come back. Because he also had a ‘thank you’ to deliver.

When Hayden got to his feet, he said “All right, I need to drop by the Gallows for now but I’ll be back in time to accompany you to the docks. The ship will take off a few after noon, right?”

“Yes. You don’t need to come back here, I’ll be waiting for you near the ship.”

“Hum… all right, perfect then.” Hayden smiled and moved to wear his templar gear to leave.

When Hayden departed, Lane stayed for a long while sitting in the empty room, as quiet as the plant pot adorning the windowsill.

And then, he stood up.

If he had to come back, if he had to worry about staying much longer in this city because his father might ask him for it next time, he might as well try and start to… blend. Discover. Yes. He wasn’t ready to blend yet. Discover was good for now. Watch surreptitiously and not look down.

He went to fetch his coat and cowl in his room. He might not walk with his eyes down this time but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t veil himself.

 

***

 

He stumbled on that fiery haired boy, Rory, when he was heading out of the building.

Rory didn’t know who Lane was. What he knew was that the gray eyed boy was the son of Hayden’s sister who came once a year to visit and stayed with Hayden and that they were close of the same age. And that meant a playmate in Rory’s head.

Rory was also not less than the only human being in the whole city who knew about Lane and talked to him. He never had the chance to look at Lane’s right eye. He also never had the chance to put into action the ‘playmate’ prospect. But Rory was also shrewd in addition to his wittiness. He saw how Lane was a reticent, diffident kind of kid. It was hard not to even notice it on first sight without the need of Hayden to warn him beforehand. There was just something ethereally reserved about his guise.

But when they were presented and Lane smiled up at him, Rory’s little heart fluttered and he deemed it his mission to entertain Lane and break past his reservedness.

But Rory couldn’t keep him company this time. He had to run an errand for the landlord of the building and that happened to be in the heat of Hightown, so Lane declined the offer to accompany him. If he had to start to blend with the society anew he wanted to start low. And for that matter _Low_ town was more condign.

He went about walking aimlessly the very boisterous streets of the low-class city, trying to keep to himself and blend in the mass even if he still got many head turning along his way and pondered twice the idea of stopping and go sit by the docks.

But then an inkling traversed his head and he tried to remember the path down to Darktown instead.

 

***

 

At the outset of things, he had only wanted to see the place of that infamous person - mage - who brought a flame of hope and perhaps the promise of new happiness back into his life - one last time. Keeping his head low and his gait smooth and perfunctory, it all came out from a spur of wistfulness as he followed the lanterns like Hayden had done.

So when he arrived at eyes reach and saw the same doors he had only seen closed because the man was supposed to be outside the city wide open, it must have meant that he was _back!_

And Lane’s heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened in inadvertent surprise.

Suddenly, his father’s hopes weren’t all going to wilt and he would be able to meet the man before he goes.

That was how Lane felt a prickling feeling invade his chest as he decided to take a step onward. He would just take a peek, he wouldn’t do anything. Just want to see and satisfy his curiosity. It was up to his father to present him. He wouldn’t be able or _dare_ to do it on his own. Oh his father would be so—

But all frenzied up plans and thoughts came to a brusque halt when Lane took a glimpse on the inside of the clinic.

Inside were two men, entangled into each other arms.

“… and then I have to check on Lirene’s shop to tell her that I’m back, and I also have to stop by some… friends… with whom I work to inform them too.”

“By friends you mean mages?” The dark haired one said with a smirk.

“They’re not _all_ mages if you must know.”

“It’s all right,” the bearded man said, nuzzling the blond’s neck, “You don’t need to be all secretive around me, you know you can trust me, right?”

The other smiled and said “Yes.”

“And I know what you’re going to do,” that was when the blond man started to squirm out of the embrace but the black haired man just made his hold firmer as he chuckled, “Oh no, no I know, you are going to empty that single purse you agreed to take with you from the vault all down Lirene’s donation box.”

“Garrett—”

“To which I say it’s a grand act of generosity that makes me want to ravish the nobleness and magnanimity out of you,” the blond laughed and duck his head, “But all I ask is for you to use at least some of that coin on yourself. Don’t forget that you have your share of the vault as much as I or Varric and Isabela. It is ours. The _four_ of us. You will soon have more than enough to help them all, so why don’t you use the first bit of the well earned spoils on you?”

Anders had long since stopped fidgeting and now looked upon the dark haired man with clear fondness. Hawke went on, “I don’t know, Anders, buy yourself a meal that’s not actually dried meat or deep mushrooms. Of course I’ll buy you a proper dinner later at the Hanged Man. And save some for a hot bathtub.”

Three things happened. Lane’s lips parted, Anders chuckled and Lane’s heart crumpled.

“With me,” Hawke added.

“Nice save,” Anders bemused.

“Oh please, we spent so many nights hustled together in catacombs, you think I would still mind the smell of dirt and mud on you – or _me_ for that matter?”

“That’s… good to hear, fine, I’ll keep some to myself but I still need to drop by there.”

“I know. I also need to inform my family that I’m not dead, so… I’ll let you see to the clinic and your errands for now but we meet at the Hanged Man in the evening right?”

“Right. I’ll come join you when I’m done.”

Hawke nudged Anders closer in his arms and tipped his head. Anders met him willingly and greedily and they shared a tender, searing kiss.

Lane ducked away immediately and turned his head, cowl still in place. He climbed down the staircase and stood stiller than the corner he was facing as Hawke, seconds later, passed by him like he was just a piece of Darktown’s clayed wall.

He also stayed a solid amount of time in that position after the fear of being seen faded.

Anders. Tall, blond, mage friends, his clinic. It was the man his father spoke of? Lane browed. What was going on? He was supposed to be his father’s lover. The man who finally rekindled the spark of hope and happiness in his father’s eyes after all that happened?! And when Lane remembered the way Hayden spoke of Anders—the way he looked speaking of him - something plummeted inside of him. And when Lane realized what it was, his head snapped up.

Hope. Happiness. A chance at redemption. That was what sunk.

All of it.

And suddenly all light went out in Hayden’s eyes - and suddenly Lane was reliving what have happened before, and his heart spasmed on the threshold of his throat.

No. No no no.

_No._

His father didn’t _deserve_ this. Lane’s eyes focused back - still facing the wall like a punished schoolboy when something clicked. And just like that, he took a step back from the wall, and as quietly as he came, left.

 

***

 

Sitting on a barrel facing the sea, Lane reflected. He reflected about many things. Things of the past. Things of the present. And the future.

He thought about the sacrifices made in his sake. He thought about the torment he underwent gratuitously. About the _pain_ that abide despite the physical healing. For not the first time did he reflect about it – did he ask himself why - how… why.

But this time – this time it wasn’t about him. And yet he couldn’t help but feel guilty about it.

It was supposed to be good this time! Lane frowned hurtfully. _It was supposed to be his father’s turn to be happy in this life._ It was supposed to be a new start.

It was supposed to be over.

 Lips trembled. No, it wasn’t about him. He didn’t care about himself. He long since dropped it all, and yet something inside him was starting to simmer right beneath his skin.

Emotions long since numbed volitionally.

And his vision whitened at the edges.

Cries and shouts and pleading voices and agony and streaks of blood that were all mixed in a ball inside of a box started to flash in celerity inside his mind’s eye.

No.

No, close the box.

_“Burn the thought and there is no pain left to break you.”_

Lane heard the wise voice in the back of his mind say.

He had burned it.

Withdraw back into your haven of silence and they will not find you and nothing will ever damage you and nothing will ever reach you. Those were the words he learned to repeat in his head whenever the fear enclosed on him.

Lane exhaled little breathy puffs, fixing a dot in the horizon.

_“Blind from all of the excess, Lane. Use your silence to destroy the memory.”_

The box closed. The repeating visions speeding his blinking stopped. But Lane was left somehow distraught unlike the white serenity he used to feel whenever he safely underwent that mind-ordeal.

Another time he had to go through this unending purgatory cruise.

Another time it had to leave him close to the tears he swore to never shed again from the memorable fear of them falling red across his right cheek.

Why couldn’t he just get rid of this rife?

How long should he confine within himself in his cell of nothingness.

How long must he hedge his memory and let it weaken his shell.

And all at once the boy stood up. He took a step forward and another one until he stood where the edge of the concrete reached the sea.

Perhaps he deserved all that had happened to him… Perhaps it was his destiny, he thought. But then, Lane recalled the voice of Armysia that had said once,

_“We all have already written our future. We only need to find our course in life for it to begin to take form.”_

And suddenly it dawned on Lane.

Stop taking the past as an alibi. Withdrawing into a cracked shell. Tapering emotions so much that it had become difficult to be consciously part of life.

Was it time? To find a purpose? To put a foot into the hourglass of life and the macrocosm a second time?

Wind blew, whooshing off his cowl, making him feel almost naked but strangely lighter from the inside out.  

It cooled his cheeks with its crispy breeze and slid away his wispy hair off his brow and face like a matronly hand. As if to help him clear his thoughts.

Lane stood motionless, almost giddy. Did it mean something? Was it a sign? Was the ocean sea responding? And his lidded eyes clearer than the afternoon light, widened on the erythrite revelation.

Yes, perhaps he had deserved it. But he knew his father did not.

Lane’s features steeled then narrowed.  

On the deck, anyone would have been able to see a fair haired, young person lifting their half-sculpted chin up, parting their flushed lips to let the upcoming winter wind wash over their face like they had never let it in years.

While to the invisible eye, Lane Reks had just thrown his box to the sea. For good.

He fixed back his cowl over his head and turned to face Kirkwall’s docks.  

Time to rejoin the dance of life.

 

***

 

Hayden joined him later in the afternoon when his business in the Gallows was done, an hour before boarding. He made sure to spend the last of every instant with the son he wasn’t about to see any sooner.

“I wish you could stay another day more.”

Lane smiled gently at Hayden’s rueful face. Inside, he hated every second that expression stuck in the chiseled features. It was not Hayden’s fault he had to returns back. In fact it was another of Hayden’s sacrifices for his sake and the Lane was starting to have enough of this constant reminder.

But he still put on his most natural façade even if the face inside him pulled and tugged with a newborn feeling long since forgotten.

Anger.

“I wish I could too.”

Hayden breathed out a sigh and forced a smile to curve his lips. It made Lane feel even worse. “At least I know you’ll be safe. That’s the most important.”

“Dad? You know, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m happy.”

Hayden looked at him slightly surprised at first. But then his eyes relaxed into that doting green gaze he gave that unshouldered five years off his back just like that. He stayed silent for a few seconds before responding, “Well, that’s delightful to hear. I’m happy too. And mostly, because I plan to see you twice this year,” he said brightly, “I’ll send you a letter when the time is perfectly right.”

Lane’s lips twitched before turning into a soft smile. “Well, you can take your time, there’s no need to rush things right?”

“Right,” Hayden nodded pleasantly.

“I will have to go aboard now.”

Hayden’s brow frowned. “Already?”

“Yes, the ship will leave at any moment now.”

“But there’s still a short while to go,” Hayden said woefully. Lane bit his lip and all at once enfolded the templar in his arms in a tight embrace. The latter startled for a second before returning the hug as solidly and carefully with his templar armor as he could manage.

They were at the mouth of a discreet alley that opened directly on the decks since Hayden was still in his formal attire from the gallows.

“I know but you have to go back there and I don’t want to keep you.”

Hayden let out a sight. “It’s true, there’s so much to do today and they’re handing me the heavy lifting for the days off I took out of schedule. But still, I don’t want to waste any moment I could spend with you,” he said, despondency brimming from his tone.

“I know but… this is the last ship to Ferelden before winter so it’s going to be overfull, and I want to find a comfortable place for the long travel,” Lane softly replied with a regretful smile, sincere and sad.

Hayden looked terminally powerless, his shoulders sagging. “I suppose.”

“You don’t need to wave me goodbye dad, I will be fine.” And thus tried to muster his widest smile that slanted his eyes and gave him a genuine loveliness.

“Fine. I guess you’re right. You should find yourself a suitable place for the trip,” Hayden nodded his agreement and pulled the boy to his arms one last time. “You have enough food in your satchel, there’s also enough coin if something should happen,” he said surly and then extracted himself to clasp Lane’s forearms firmly as his eyes turned very serious, “Lane, surtout prend soin de toi, et bien sure passe mes salutations à Armysia et Dana.”

Lane nodded good-naturally.

“Je t’aime fiston, tu vas m' manqué.” And he brought Lane against his chest tightly in a final goodbye embrace.

“Je t’aime aussi, papa… Merci.”

Hayden chuckled into the embrace. “Pourquoi merci?”

“Pour tout.”

“Tout?” Hayden pulled to look into the boy’s eyes with a questioning smile.

Lane shrugged softly, “Tout. Everything. You did for me. ”

“Oh Lane.” And Hayden tilted his head in a too much dimpling, adorable way to belong to a mature adult geared from collar to heel in hard metal. “That’s my job. My purpose is to take care of you. It’s absolutely nothing for me - just second nature. That’s why you don’t— _never_ need to thank me for that. All right?”

The boy lifted up his chin a tiny bit higher and felt something break inside him. Something complex and sharp like the edges of snowflakes that abraded his insides.

He hadn’t known what it was. Only that he suddenly felt a wave of resolute endurance burst free from his ribcage and his eyes stilted. And though it was supposed to be a final goodbye hug and Hayden had gotten to his feet, Lane shot his arms around his torso and held on tight. Every millisecond of that hold was a silent promise to himself that he will do anything.

He didn’t care about himself. He didn’t care about finding a purpose to unlock his future. And he didn’t care about anybody else.

His brain was roiling when Hayden gave a final squeeze and let him go. He smiled down at him, adjusted his cowl around his head, brushed the shoulders of his white coat and patted them once.

“Come on then.”

Hayden walked him up and stopped at the footbridge between the dock and the ship as Lane climbed it up as he should. He waved discreetly – just a raised palm and a flicking of fingers and Lane returned it. He saw Hayden inhaling deeply, clearly fighting the desire to stay until the ship sailed off but Lane gave him a tiny smile and an expression that said ‘come on, you need to go, I’ll be fine’.

So Hayden backed away at last and turned his back on the sea but not before casting one last farewell look at his beloved son.

And then he was out of sight, quickly lost in the milling throng of people.

Lane went to sit on a bench and waited in his head.

Waited… waited… and stood up.

And walked down the footboard until his foot planted back again on the solid ground.

And old sailor called from behind, “Oye, ye! We’ll set sail in any moment now, ‘s no time to go wander!”

Lane paused on his tracks, turned indolently to look from behind a shoulder, blue cowl shadowing his face and said,

“I know.”

 

***

 

Anders hadn’t even noticed time rolling by when Kirkwall darkened. He had visited Lirene, Selby and the mage underground for updates on the situation in the Gallows and to basically let everyone know he hadn’t perished in the Deep Roads.

The clinic had also brimmed with Darktowners who showed up mostly to express their delight at their healer’s return.

He even got pulled into a hug thrice.

He never thought so many people would be that happy to see him. Would actually show glee and gratitude and genuinely miss him. He remembered how Lirene’s eye teared a little at seeing him back.

Yes. It had been a busy day even if he had just gotten out of the execrating Deep Roads; but it was a lighthearted day. And now at least, he could go and purposefully relax his bones from all the weariness accumulated on his back with a hot stew and maybe have another bath with Hawke.

That thought sounded just about delightful and with that promise in mind, Anders closed the clinic and walked towards the Hanged Man.

Nightfall was starting to get colder and earlier as the biting weather approached. The autumn wind whiffed the dust and crusted leaves of the streets in the air as Anders exited Darktown and fell into pace toward the infamous tavern, clutching together the collar of his pauldrons. Unaware of a shadow following from behind.

When Anders walked through an open square too large and brightened by the full moon for Lane to follow subtly, the boy decided it was time. And he pulled a knife.

He inhaled, closed his eyes—

 _Fear is only a choice_ _we embrace._

—And slashed his upper arm in a neat vertical slice - and stabbed the blade into his stomach.

He let the weapon slide from his hand and tumbled out of the alley, into the square and called out softly, _“Help! Please...”_

Anders, five feet away turned around upon hearing the voice and his face fell as he gasped, “Maker’s breath!” at the sight of the boy sprawled on the concrete.

He sprinted and fell to his knees at Lane’s side, dropping his staff on the ground.  He turned him carefully on his back, cupping his head and saw the bloom of dark red spreading across pristine white.

“Oh Maker—it’s all right, I’ve got you—I’ve got you.” The Fade cracked in the air and on the tip of his fingers as Anders summoned the spirit healer in him, and powerful blue light covered the worst of the injuries. Anders frowned into the ministration and ditched everything surrounding him like performing magic out in the open from his head.

He felt the torn tissues and organs and pinched his face in more concentration while cursing in his head. “Bloody fuck, so young,” he muttered angrily.

Justice crawled close to the surface for some reasons, Anders sensed. He usually stayed underneath until Anders needed more energy. But Anders was still good and Justice wasn’t actually lending any strength yet. He just seemed to want to take a closer peek for some unfathomable reason.

Anders didn’t have time to dwell about it though. He still had his arms full of a bleeding body who seemed to have passed out.

Anders panicked from a brief instant at the stillness under his hands before his magic told him he still got a pulse.

His palms over the coat, channeling shimmering whiteness, Anders knew at last that he’d be able to save this life. What he hoped next was not being caught ‘sparkle’ handed by a patrol of any kind.

He clasped the frail left arm where he sensed the anomaly and knitted the skin together quicker than what took for the stomach stab. As soon as it was done and without going through his double-checking routine, he strapped his staff back and scrambled the kid into his arms, standing.

He cast a rapid glance into the distance where the warm embrace of the Hanged Man and Hawke awaited and grimaced in regret.

He’d be able to explain it sooner or later.

And thus, backtracked on his steps toward his clinic.

 

***

 

Sooner was an hour or so later when Hawke came knocking on his door.

He wasn’t wearing his armor, only a coat over a dark tunic covering his frame. Although his greatsword was protruding angularly from his shoulder. He was also sweating and gravely frowning.

“Anders, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you come like we agreed to?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he quickly interjected, moving to close to door and dropping flat hands over Hawke’s chest. “I was on my way but something happened.”

If possible Hawke’ brow creased even more as he clasped Anders by the shoulders, “What?! What happened are you all right?”

Anders, startled by the sudden snappy reaction that made him stagger slightly backward, quickly shook his head and cupped one bearded cheek, “No, no, it’s not me, calm down, love.” He moved to the inside of the clinic and stopped before a cot. “This boy… he’s been stabbed. Thank the Maker I was there, he only mumbled a plea before he hit the ground,” he said woefully while looking down at the figure sleeping on the side, shaking his head.

Hawke closed the space between them until he stood beside the mage. He slid his gaze over the laying body briefly. “Oh.”

“I didn’t know what to do after I closed his wounds. He was still passed out…  I brought him here to be safe and so I can tend to him when he wakes up.” Anders added and when he finally lifted his head to face Hawke, the blond mage finally saw it. Something was not right. Something about Hawke was not right. He could understand that the man had barged in breaking a sweat and disgruntled at the supposition of being blown off or the fear of something happening to him, but Hawke’s features stayed… stricken.

He ventured slowly, “Garrett…?”

“Anders.”

The name fell on it's stomach, flat and breathless. Oh.

“They took Bethany.”

Anders stilled.

“Wh—what who—”

“The templars. They took my little sister.”

Oh no.

Anders shook his head like it wasn’t true. “No.”

And that was when Hawke cracked and his features crumpled into an afflicted grimace, “Anders, they took her, they fucking took her to the Gallows,” he said, voice shaking by the end.

Hawke closed his eyes tightly trying to suppress—tears? Oh maker— Anders collected him in his arms immediately. “Oh no, love.”

Hawke went easily as if he’d been denuded of any strength to do more, and all left in him was the ability to lean into Anders’ embrace and shoulder and breathe in and out.

Anders heard a strangled sob and he shook too. 

“She—she’s gone, she’s fucking gone for good into that prison,” lamented Hawke.

“But, but how…?” He held tighter.

“I don’t know. They just— came one day out of the blue. I went to Aveline after the Gallows and she said she had no idea how they knew about her. It’s like – it’s like they smelled the magic on her from the other side of the island!  And she couldn’t do anything once they had proof she was a mage… it was in the templar’s _hands_ now _._ ”

“Oh Maker,” Anders voice trembled. This was a nightmare. An unbelievable nightmare.

Hawke pulled himself to gruffly sniffle and rub his nose. His eyelashes were damp and his eyes red swollen with suppressed tears and Anders didn’t recognize the man standing before him.

Hawke went on, “We spent a whole year straying and roaming Kirkwall for jobs around every corner, I leave _one_ bloody month, and she gets caught all of a sudden!” he stated blamefully.

Anders tilted his head in shared pain. “You went to the Gallows?”

“Of course I went. Straight from Gamlen’s house when I knew. That blighted Cullen. Another word from his mouth that wasn’t an agreement to see her and he wouldn’t have been part of this world anymore. He a _llowed_ me to see her, considering the circumstances. She—” he voice faltered, “She was already wearing the Circle robes,” he said in disgusted sorrow.

Anders felt a second anger join his. Justice seething. Making his fingers itch for something to do _right now._ Right this injustice _right now._

He didn’t know what to do with those twitching fingers so he pulled Hawke back to him and gripped onto his back enough to whiten his knuckles. Hawke leaned gratefully and held on tight on his own, dropping the weight of his muscles for an intimate momentum where he was safe to sag. Crumble in an isolated place far from prying eyes that might cast aspersions on how the mighty mercenary Hawke who emerged back from the Deep Roads in all his glory and far from empty handed, could also bend under the chantry’s laws.

The sight of him alone hurt so much that Anders' eye teared as he held tighter. Until his nails dug into the coat and his palms burned. Hoping it would contain his own rage and dismay.

 

***

 

We are all aware that evil exist.

But we don’t pay attention to it.

Because we are worried about our lovers.

_“How…?” Hawke murmured, his voice barren into the clenching embrace, head in the crook of Anders’ shoulder. “How did they know...”_

Preoccupied by our plight and the jarring reality of the work awaiting us.

_And suddenly something made Anders’ saddened eyes expend in scandal as his head was resting softly against the warrior’s shoulder. And his eyes narrowed in a sudden dissimilar anger._

Perturbed by the actions of other men sharing secretly our life.

Yes. We don’t pay attention to evil. Because we think we would never let it sneak into our lifes.

But we are wrong.

_Gray eyes watched quietly the two men from their sleeping position for a long moment, blinking softly. Observing coolly._

And sometimes, we even open our door to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Lane, surtout prend soin de toi, et bien sure passe mes salutations à Armysia et Dana.” : "Lane, most importantly take care of yourself, and of course give my greetings to Armysia and Dana."
> 
> “Je t’aime fiston, tu vas m' manqué.” : "I love you son, I'll miss you."
> 
> “Je t’aime aussi papa… Merci.” : "I love you too, dad... thank you."
> 
> “Pourquoi merci?” : "Why thank you?"
> 
> “Pour tout.” : "For everything."
> 
> “Tout?” : "Everything?"


	22. The heartbreaker (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought I'm dead. But despite the new fandoms that inspire me so much, until I deliver my burning two cents with this story I shall not let it get Frozen indefinitely so there is no Letting Go yet~<3
> 
> Also, Thank you to those who kudoed still despite the long wait (l) 
> 
> I want to thank my friend again who drew me the principal original characters of DO exactly the way I described them <3

When he was young, Anders’ mother warned him to never trust mysterious men.

Never accept their sweets.

Never go with them.

And never open the door to them.

But now, Anders was his own adult, and though being the healer of Darktown meant keeping his doors open at the ready to all stripe of strangers, Anders had always been confident about his instinct when it came to mysterious men.

This was why this time, the unstilted illusion was perfect.

After all, who would suspect a _kid?_

 

***

 

“Good morning.” Anders smiled.

The fair haired boy’s eyelashes fluttered rapidly as he adjusted to the morning light pouring out of the makeshift hole-window, and then shifted up at Anders’ smiling face bent over him.

“I know you must have a hatful of questions in your head right now, so first of all, you don’t have to worry, you’re safe here.” He turned to grab something beside him, continuing, “I won’t hurt you. I closed your—” the hand closed on the elfroot stilled as he glanced back at the laying boy. Lane’s cowl was undone. And his hair wasn’t arranged around his right side to say the least. He was looking at Anders and Anders was looking right back.

Back into his _two_ eyes _._

“Oh - Oh Maker I didn’t see—I—I, are you all right?” Anders suddenly blurted at loss of what to say or do with his hands.

Of course he meant Lane’s right eye. The one with the red eyeball. The one Anders was currently flagrantly torn between wanting to scrutinize and cringingly avert from because it was so unsettling in the middle of such a crystal clear iris and seraphic features.

Lane immediately dropped his gaze.

“Let me see, don’t worry I healed your other wounds,” Anders tried more calmly at the boy’s turning face, watching him hunching up to sit, oddly pulling the cowl to cover his head, his movements a burst of brisk and stiffness and Anders felt culpability start to chew over him for embarrassing the poor young boy.

“I—It’s not a wound.”

Anders put a carful hand over Lane’s arm. “It’s all right,” he said with a much gentle smile, “I just want to check it - perhaps I can do something. I’m a healer. You are safe with me, I assure you.”

Lane stalled on his sitting position on the cot, face hidden and turned in blatant avoidance. He repeated quietly, “It’s not a wound. It’s only a scar.”

“Oh.” Anders frowned nonetheless. Wound or scar, the result was the same. And it was terrible.

 _He_ felt terrible. And he _still_ wanted to make sure. “My name is Anders. How are you feeling? I wanted to give you some water and… elfroot - here, in case you woke up nauseous of sorts.” When the boy didn’t stir, Anders added, “Do you… remember what happened?”

“I…”

From his side of the cot, Lane thought. He adjusted the asymmetric hair on his right side and shifted shyly, giving Anders a first glimpse of chin and nose.

“No,” he said.

“You were walking in Lowtown last night. And you got… stabbed. But thank the Maker I was there, just a few feet away! And I helped you,” Anders supplied kindly.

Lane touched his stomach faintly with his wool-gloved hand - where the shred fabric and the blood dried on his snow white coat was. He frowned at it regretfully. He liked that coat.

Anders thought of the frowning lines as worry and reassured quickly, “Don’t worry, I took care of it. The wound is closed now; you won’t feel any more pain. On your upper arm too.”

Anders. The healer. The one his father loved. The one who was to break his heart soon.

“You closed my wounds? How…”

“I am… well. I’m a healer. The healer of Darktown if you ever heard of the name.”

“No… I’m sorry.” He shifted more so that his profile was into view. He paused and added, “I remember… pain.”

“I’m sorry about what happened. But you should know better than to mender Kirkwall after dusk. Everyone knows gangs and thugs roam the streets like their own by night.”

Lane didn’t reply at once.

Victory called for first blood.

And first blood was effected…

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” And then slowly, shyly, turned to fully face the blond man anew once his hair was righteously combed. “Thank you, Serah.”

Anders couldn’t help the sliver of staggerness his senses did. He didn’t pay it attention last night when he attended to the injuries. Nor when he was carrying the passed out boy away to a safer place. And then Hawke had come with the appalling news and left him disoriented and preoccupied by what he assumed was being responsible for what happened to Bethany.

Or at least the one who could answer some bloody questions.

But now that the boy was awake and staring at him - though he would have pondered his gender if it wasn’t for his spirited touch that seeped into the body and told him so, because the kid was no short of an androgynous sculpture and Anders couldn’t help but be in a quiet awe for a smidgen instant. It wasn’t every day that he saw that kind of… flawless features on neither a young or adult complexion.

Something about the halo sheen on the visible gray eye especially made Anders feel tremendously sorry for what had happened to such unfortunate beautiful planes.

“No, it’s my duty to help out,” he said with a soft smile. A smile that made Lane tilt his head a sliver touch to the side as if in slight wonder. “So how are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Do you want some water?” Anders handed over a cup. “I checked your wounds in the middle of the night without taking off your coat. I know it’s stained but I guessed you could use the extra warmth since the clinic isn’t really the best heated place to welcome the upcoming winter.”

Lane swallowed subtly. “Thank you for your help.” And he brought the cup of water to his lips slowly, taking a sip. Beneath the calm composure his mind was reeling.

“You’re welcome.”Anders smiled again that kind and gentle smile. “I suppose your family must be really worried about you now. You are free to leave whenever you want.”

“I…” Lane started. The man was kind. And gentle. He risked his life and he saved him. But something despicable clouded his mind’s eye and he steeled his emotions and pulled his shoulders taut.

“Actually, there is no one waiting for me,” he said in his naturally quiet, preserved tone.

Anders stopped and furrowed. “Oh. You… have no one?”

A hairbreadths pause and then— “No.”

Lane surveyed the mage’s features as they contorted in surprise and condolence. He looked at him for a moment and then said “Actually, I came here looking for someone.”

Anders eyebrows lifted a little. Lane continued, “I’m not from here – Kirkwall. I came here because I’m looking for a family member.”

“Oh,” Anders intoned genuinely, “So you don’t live here. That - must be why you weren’t aware of how dangerous the streets are by night!” he deducted to himself.

“… Yes. I was told a member of my family lives here. It’s all I have left.”

“Oh,” Anders muttered, his face falling into affected empathy. “Do you know who might it be or have a lead?”

Lane gulped. Imperceptible. “No. I only have a name.”

Anders’ whole face leaped with what must Lane guessed to be hopefulness. “That could be helpful then! But – meanwhile… where… where are you staying?”

The boy shrugged modestly and looked evasive.

“You have no place to stay?”

“I used all the money I had to come here. I had no choice.”

Lane watched diffidently as the tall man’s expression narrowed into a disapproving line. “Oh Maker, That was such foolish thing to do,” he chided leniently at Lane who found it slightly uncanny for a presumed stranger. His browed a little as he contemplated the mage.

“You didn’t even think about how long it might take you or what you—”

“Ser healer,” someone interrupted by the door. Anders and Lane’s looked over to see a woman with a baby in her arm and a little girl at her other hand.

“Yes?” Anders called and excused himself from Lane to trot up to them. Lane watched silently as they moved into the middle of the clinic, the woman’s face all creased in worried lines. Lane observed her measly clothes and patched up apron and the hair tied into a quick ponytail off of her face. He could hear bits of her furtive talk.

“—And it’s Remon’s first day at the foundry so I couldn’t leave her on her own—”

“You don’t need to apology, you are all welcome in here,” Anders said to her.

“Gratitude Serah, I—I don’t know what’s going on with her, she wouldn’t stop crying for three days now,” she shared, nodding at her charge and passing it softly and easily into Anders’ arms. “And I fear my husband won’t get the rest he deserves by night if this keeps up.”

Anders handled the draped babe in his arms with effortless gentleness and put it on a sheeted cot. Lane stood on the side, still and awkward as he surveyed what seemed to be a usual scene for the man, and he watched from under his cowl.

Anders was smiling and playing with the baby’s pudgy hand who grabbed on his pinkie and wouldn’t seem to let go while the other one was starting to gleam a soft white. He put it softly over the baby’s round tummy as she pushed a high-pitched, enthusiastic baby noise and Lane’s eyes narrowed at the blatant act of magic in public. The mother didn’t even stir, more preoccupied in worrying her apron in suspense as if using magic was the most natural thing to witness.

Lane frowned deeply from his corner, his fingers cupped in front of him, fidgeting slowly in confusion and slight fear.

But nothing happened. The little girl by the woman’s side looked over at him and paused when their eyes met. Her eyes expended beneath her bangs a little and she shied away first.

It didn’t take long to examine the babe and Anders was already picking her up to hand it to her mother.

“Just something she ate that hurt her stomach. Nothing aggravating. I took the pain away, don’t worry.”

“Thank the Maker, I don’t understand, I give her milk from our personal goat and clean every vegetable twice before giving it to her.”

“It can happen with no particular reason, don’t worry, stomachs can be stubborn too.” Then he dipped his hand in a pocket of his coat. He reached out and handed a whole sovereign to the woman. “How about you take this and go to Hightown buy some fresh food to spoil her little belly and if she still feels sick don’t hesitate on coming back.”

She looked down at her palm then at Anders with a stricken expression as if Anders had just told her her baby was dangerously ill _and_ incurable. “Oh Maker! Gratitude—Gratitude Serah—” she clamped on the tiny coin fiercely with the hand that wasn’t’ holding her babe and nudged her other kid with her elbow, “Misa, say thank you!”

Lane watched the girl dip her head. “Thank you, Serah.”  

Anders smiled humbly and shook a hand in a ‘no need to’ way.

The mother bowed twice and a third time when they were about to exit.

Lane stayed still in his corner watching it all with a puzzling gaze until Anders’ eyes met his and he quickly downcast them.

Anders approached him with his placarded smile. “You’re all right?”

Lane watched him from beneath his eyelashes and said nothing for a moment.

“You used magic.”

“Yes, um… I use my magic to heal people.”

The question wasn’t a part of the oblivious game. Lane was genuinely puzzled and that made him recoil slightly when he wasn’t sure of his groundings.

“… And they never tell the templars?” he asked quietly, dubiously.

“Not when they know there is someone who could save them or the people they care about.” Anders shrugged. “It’s a fair trade.”

“You didn’t even get paid,” Lane pointed out narrowedly.

“The pay is not calling the templar on my tail.”

Lane’s features pursed into a guarded line. “And… may I ask why do you do this freely? Risking yourself?”

It was Anders’ time to pause. His shoulders were pulled into a taut half-way shrug as he reflected to himself. Finally he looked back and said “When I came here, I had nothing, like you. Actually I was also looking for someone. Like you,” he punctuated with a small smile, “The refugees find their place in the sewers. I found my place with them. And when I saw all the despair and people dying from small injuries because they had nothing to buy for themselves some elfroot with, I... couldn’t stay cross-armed. It was too… unjust - for all those innocents lives,” the mage explained patiently, skimming over the Justice-helping-him-raise-the-clinic-to-what-it-is-now part.

Lane was motionless for a long while. Face stuck in an undecipherable expression than almost started to worry Anders. He couldn’t place that strange gray gaze.

“You are very kind.”   

“I just like helping out.”Anders smiled and brushed the compliment away. “So what is your name by the way?”

Lane eyed him silently for another while, making Anders wonder if it was just in the nature of the boy to lapse into silence between sentences.

But Lane didn’t procrastinate much longer and revealed himself as –

“Lane.”

Anders only smiled with a nod. “All right, Lane. Em, listen, I have something very important I must do,” he started, heading to a half opened door at the far back of the clinic. Lane followed him with his eyes while he went on, “A word I need to… pass to someone. So… I will have to close the clinic while and I’m gone.”

Lane’s panicked slightly. He didn’t know what to do next.

The mage emerged back from the inside of the room with a piece of paper and an ink pen, settling it all on a cot and hunched to start scribbling.

“Can I… Can I wait for you?” Lane intoned, nervously evasive.

Anders raised his head up at him and his stagnant stance on the same spot beside his cot. “Uh.” The boy had nowhere to go Anders reflected to himself. He was young and coinless and - shit - probably starved.

“All right, you know what, here,” Anders walked up to him quickly and plunged his hand in his pocket in the same way he did before. “How about you go buy yourself something to eat while I’m gone. You can also continue your searching now that it’s safe in the daylight! And if you haven’t had any luck, you can come back here. All right?”

Lane looked at the silvers waiting in the man’s palm. He took them with his gloved left hand as if needing them and nodded assent.

“All right. Thank you.”

Anders smiled it off and turned to where his piece of paper was waiting.

“Good luck!” Anders called once Lane made for the doors.

The latter didn’t turn, his features calcifying somberly as he walked out.

 

***

 

Anders was seething.

He was seething ever since Hawke went back home after breaking the news to him.

And only one name was dancing around that Void-fire. 

That was why he got back to his ink pen as soon as possible, scribbling a quick word and then folding the piece of paper in two before pocketing it inside his coat. He didn’t waste time grabbing his staff from its lounging position against the wall and exiting his clinic, locking it behind them before hammering his feet passive-aggressively on his stride.

He arrived Hightown when the sun was setting warmly on the City of Chains. But he would never indulge in it to his content for he borrowed the dark alleys with grudging rancor like a bloody rat for fear of stumbling on any templars so early into the day.

Finally he reached his destination, standing before the massive stone-building renowned of Kirkwall’s old architectural design. Kirkwall’s was so different from all the cities he’s been into in Ferelden. Redcliff, Denerim, Amaranthine, Highever… they all palled before the towering stone structures help-built by the city dwarves’ crafty hands.

No dwarves helped building strong structures like that in Ferelden, Anders thought offhandedly before taking a step onward.

Just as he was about to enter the sought building, a pitched voice startled him from his thoughts.

“Oh! Heya, Messere Anders!”

Anders looked to his left side and saw the Rory boy sitting cross-legged atop the flat end of a small pillar. He was munching on a little sugary loaf of bread when he caught sight of him and quickly pounced off his perch with feline easiness.

He jog-pranced toward him with a bubbly mood and stopped in front of him with the same pukish smile he remembered from the first time he met the youngling.

“Hello,” Anders greeted amiably, unable to not reciprocate some of all that good humor.

“Did you come to see Hayden? ‘Cause he’s not here right now, he’s in the Gallows!”

Anders’ smile tightened around the edges. “I assumed. That’s why I came looking for you actually. Um,” Anders paused and dipped his hand in his pocket, taking out his folded note, “Could you perhaps get this word to him?”

“Yeah of course!” the boy took the letter and Anders saw his mouth purse in skitter curiosity. He gave Anders a sneaky smile. “Is it a… _dirty_ _letter?_ ”

Anders’ eyes rounded. “Wh—what?”

Rory only simpered. “Oh I know I know it’s no business of mine, cross my heart I won’t look at it!” and drew a cross with his index over his shirt, “You can trust me, I won’t open it, I don’t want Hayden to be disappointed with me anyways,” he said, onrushing his words like fired up arrows.

“Uh—the—” Anders spluttered, wanting to say something, but couldn’t decide from where to start, eyebrows high on his forehead. This kid was really something else. And looking back down at the freckled boy, the only thing he was able to muster to that wide eyed expression was—

“All right.” And he plastered a little smile with a shrug that said it was no need to fret. It did it; the fleeting insecurity in the youngster swept away with a board grin.

Rory dipped the piece of paper in his tiny satchel strapped to his belt and lifted both arms high in the air, open palms toward the sun. “Aaall right!” Anders didn’t know what the little bounce was needed for before he had to take off but he shrugged to himself again. He took out his pouch and fetched inside it for a silver.

Rory jumped. “No,” he said suddenly and shook his head. “You don’t need to, this is for Hayden, he instructed me personally to help anyway I could.” Then he broke into a sunshiny smile challenging the sunlight overhead itself. “I’m happy to be of service!”

Oh Maker, the boy was a freckled sun candy.

Rory waved widely and started to jog but then he paused and turned back to him again. “D’you need me to tell’ em somethin’ else?”

“No, just… just make sure to get him that word safely. And thank you, Rory.”

 “Aye Aye! See ya!”

Despite the grim situation he was in, Anders couldn’t help the smile that stayed on his lips. He couldn’t believe the zesty mood of a twelve year old boy could rub on him so much. But seeing so much jauntiness eased on his tight clasped bones for a while at least.

 

***

 

Anders was waiting in the Lowtown house.

His knee couldn’t stop jiggling as he gnawed on his lower lip. His thumb had been rubbing over one singular knuckle enough to light a spark of fire and he kept wondering if he should rehearse a speech with well-chosen words or wing it in an unbidden and off the cuff way. In any case, his thoughts were so restively whorling he would probably be incapable of setting down a straight trail of thought to memorize and vomit it bluntly later.  

His mind was brewing. Scratch that – his whole body was brewing. On the precipice of outpouring on the ground like hot water long forgotten in a kettle.

But when he heard the clatter of a key in the lock followed by the door slowly opening, somehow every mechanism keeping Anders alive and rolling stopped at once.

Hayden.

He hadn’t changed from the last time he saw him. Or at least the back of his head hadn’t because the man was currently closing the door behind him as quickly as he pushed it open.

And then he turned. And no, Anders thought as he watched how the templar’s face literally alit into the very definition of a ‘splitting smile’.

“Anders!” It came as an exhale as if the man had sprint his way from the Gallows to Lowtown or perhaps been holding his breath ever since Anders departed to the Deep Roads.

It only left Anders with a knife twisting in the wound feeling.

“I knew— I knew,” Hayden shook his head with disbelief, eyes still sparkling and voice stained with emotion, “you would return. That you haven’t perished like all the rest of them believed. I _knew_ it.” he said with persistency, as if he won the bet against the negative thoughts of his mind.

Then he dashed forward in one - two - three steps before Anders was squashed against metal armor.

Hearing the _oof_ and gasp of the blond man, Hayden slacked off his embrace a little and pulled enough to put a firm, strong kiss on his lips. Then he leveled his gaze to Anders’ face, grinning like a loon. “Sorry, sorry, I’m – I’m just so happy,” he sighed with a tilted head.

Anders heard the exact moment his heart touched the needle and deflated of all air.

At least now that his gentle heart had abandoned the ship, his could hand the reins to his brain to keep his limbs going and not faint from misery on the spot.

“You,” he started.

And oh how Hayden had been around him enough to catch the destabilized connotation – his smile lost its shine instantly.

“How could you!” And he shoved him away but due to the heavy gear, not so far. “I trusted you! And you took her away?! You took _Bethany_ away!”

“Wha—”

“She was such a gentle girl who couldn’t hurt a fly from how much she was harmless! She—she wanted to learn Creation magic for Maker’s sake!” Anders boomed at him with a knotted throat a blazing fire in his eyes. Justice wasn’t even needed to crack free.

This was personal.

“And you fucking shackled her up away?! Why?!” he yelled. “I thought you could see the difference!” Suddenly Anders’ eyes calcified under Hayden’ chilled posture. “Or was it because she’s Hawke’s sister? You wanted to get back at him? Is that why?”

At that, Hayden suddenly had enough and thundered forward. “What in the blighted Void are you talking about?!”

“I’m talking about the life of misery you have just put an innocent person into! _I bloody trusted you Hayden!_ ” Anders shouted angrily.

Hayden out-yelled him, “Wait—would you calm the fuck down, Anders!”

It succeeded in snapping Anders shut for the first time since he had verbally gushed on him out of the blue. But the templar knew he would need to make it quick judging by the stiff, balled fists on either side of the blond mage.

He started by lifting his hands wide before him in a defensive, peaceful manner. “First of all, I have no bloody idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know who is that… Bethany you’re speaking of but whatever happened, it wasn’t me,” Hayden said pacifically but Anders’ glare didn’t warm one bit yet. “I wasn’t there,” he added solemnly.

A heavy silence settled around the walls of the mostly empty hovel. Anders’ brows slowly twitched into an indecisive frown, folding together as his expression crumpled from outrage to one of twitchy hesitation.

“What? What do you mean you weren’t there?”                          

“I wasn’t in the Gallows this last month. I took… a few days off that I pushed into more until basically yesterday when I got back.”

Anders shook his head in unconscious disbelief.

Hayden gritted his teeth together to keep from snarling at the other man’s lack of trust. “ _I swear_ to the Maker, Anders that I wasn’t on duty until yesterday. You can ask whomever you want.”

Anders eyes grew wide at the proclamation. He wasn’t expecting that at all. And now he was left huffing softly trying to calm down his hammering heart at the wake of what Hayden had just stipulated. He looked back into Hayden’s eyes and was hit with something not only pissed off but also hurtful inside them. Hayden was himself sizing him with a same like disbelieving quality.

“I just came around the papers about the newly brought-in mages. I may have stumbled on that name but I don’t even know what that girl looks like!” He had put some distance between them now. Offensive and offended. Anders’ muddle-brained head took a moment to take in what had just been groused.

He got around the words but he didn’t know what to make of them. He decided to slacken his cemented shoulders a little in the meantime and get his paced breathing back.

After a long moment of scowling-competition, Anders declared forfeit and yielded first.

“So, what you mean is that it wasn’t you who took Bethany away? You… had nothing to do with it?”

“No.” Hayden deadpanned with a creased frown.

Suddenly Anders felt wrong-footed. Hayden’s expression right now was miffed. Very miffed. And it was not a look Anders liked to witness on him for some reason. He suddenly felt like the biggest fool to have launched at the man like a mad dog - and he cast his eyes downward.

The resonations of their shouts were still bouncing around the small empty space, and for some reason, Anders hated the invisible echoes of them in his head.  

“Hey.”

Anders recognized that familiar single word. He heard it every time Hayden came around the clinic. As a warm, reassuring lilt of voice that greeted him unexpectedly so to not spook him because he was a templar. 

When he looked up, he was met with oak-green eyes, big and ingenious.

For a smidge second, Anders’ whole being stopped functioning. Or forgot how to, for some reason. Until Hayden started to take a step onward again, closing the rift that had formed between them.

The man approached him again with an earnest stance.

“You believe me, right?”

Anders’ face conflated into the most distraught expression, so overt he almost felt like a naked body under the rain.

And he yielded with a mitigate frown and a sigh. “I’m just… so rattled. She was a good person…”

“I understand. But you believe when I say I have nothing to do with it, that I wasn’t even on duty.”

Anders could only mutter a “Yes.” And nothing else.

His eyes were still cast down when he felt the tensions around mollify, and he suspected it was because of the man’s renewed sigh. So when he looked up, he found that he was right. Hayden had a smile breaking back on his lips and already taking large proportions on his face.

“Maker. Out of all the ways I imagined our reunion, this was fairly the last of my assumptions. You’ll never cease to surprise me, do you?” Hayden slid into his personal space again, ever so naturally just like he did when he first saw him. Just like _every time_ that followed that first time.

Hayden lifted up a hand between them and dropped it on Anders’ cheek ever so tenderly. “Well now that we seem to be done spilling our guts nicely, how about we retry this greeting thing back again?” And the man slithered sensually back into kissing distance, bringing up the same previous sultry voice and eyes and yes. There was also that to deal with. And suddenly the mage’s body went rigid and his tongue tied like a bowtie.

“Uh…” Anders begun.

Hayden was leaning over him, so unbeknown to what was Anders about to do it made the mage’s already deflated heart taste a sourness so pungent as if it had a tongue of its own.

Anders felt the words plummet and die three times from the roof of his tongue before he was able to uprise some that would make of a coordinate sentence. “About that… we need to talk.” And he said so while pulling himself away from the intimate cocoon Hayden had always managed to create between their bodies, which made the latter instantly… frown.

Anders swallowed. And somehow, it was only at that moment when he realized the actual tremendous weight of what they actually had. When he was about the put a stop to it.

His heart had already aborted him. So why was he feeling like about to regurgitate it.

“Anders?”

“We – we should stop.”

“Huh?”                                                                  

“We need stop - this,” he gestured with a flattered shake of head.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It has to stop, Hayden, it can’t go on.”

The way the words and their meaning slowly sunk into Hayden - making his springy features darken was enough to make Anders flinch inwardly. For some reason.

“What in the void—? Wh—why?! What happened?!”

Anders flailed for smooth words, help, but he was alone with Hayden and a few rickety furniture. “We can’t go on like this, Hayden…”

Hayden sobered. “Why? Something happened?” Then he said in a lower, somber voice, “Does he know?”

Oh maker.

“No… no he doesn’t.”

“Then why?” the voice resonated, “I thought you would give me a chance! What happened to my chance, Anders? I know I’ve done nothing bad so far,” Hayden demurred indignantly. Anders fell into silence. Green eyes were drilling holes into his own making his insides turn to lead and clonk in the bottom of his stomach.

“No.” Hayden uttered steely. “Tell me why.”

He couldn’t stand to lie anymore. This lie that snuck up on him overnight. Never wanted. Never satisfying. It had been a justified lie at first. A white lie that suddenly turned black.

When did it turn black?

Hayden was right. He deserved the truth.

“I’m not a cheater.”

Hayden paused. “What?”

“I had never cheated on Hawke,” Anders continued and upon seeing the incomprehension misting Hayden’s handsome face, he went on more steadily, “because I’ve never been with him in the first place. It… it had been only you.”

To say Hayden was flummoxed would be to drabble in deep understandment. Upon this, many expressions flashed across the chiseled features. The last one who lingered there was a creased, unhappy frown.

“… What?”

Anders accorded him the needed time to digest the disturbing admission.

“So you mean… you were never taken - I was the only one all along?”

“Yes.”

A scowl settled on the templar’s features. “Wh— then why did you made it up?”

Anders matched him up with a glare of his own as he answered the seemingly self-evident question. “Perhaps because a templar was suddenly intently interested in my very _mage_ person?” Then the line between his eyebrows contracted at the reminiscence of how things had transpired. “It… It was never supposed to go this far… Hawke isn’t even aware of this charade. I used him to protect myself without harming you thinking you’ll drop it - but then…” Anders’ frowned as he kept pulling the strings of his memories, trying to retrace where exactly did it go awry.

It had all begun with a nod and a confirmation of a wrongness.

_“Yes, he is. It’s my lover.”_

“… Then I was supposed to kill you. Because you’re a templar. But…”

Hayden observed him silently.

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

Anders gazed up at him trying to discern the way the man was taking it all. Hayden lowered his green eyes in a pensive manner. Anders moistened his lips.

Then those greens were back on him holding a conclusion. “I get it,” he said. “You were a mage and I was a templar. You did it to protect yourself, and I can understand that - but,” Hayden marked a pause. “You had the proof that I would never hurt you so many times, so why did you keep lying after all that happened between us?”

“I don’t know I—I guess I never thought about bringing it up. There was never a right time.”

The real reason that came to him while really thinking about it was that this grotesque fantasy had given him a semblance of sure grounds and some kind of phantom shield between him and the keen templar. He seemed to be contemplating the feeble excuse before his face, all of a sudden, contorted into a strange softness.

“I get it. You were a mage and you sought protection. It’s very understandable,” he said. “I know I should feel betrayed but - I can’t help but feel pleased that I was the only one in your life all along.” And with that, he put a step forward, but as if remembering a detail, paused in his gait toward Anders. “Then what was that talk about stopping everything?”

Anders felt like the hollow click his throat did reverberate through the four walls that encompassed them.

There it was.

“Because I am with Hawke now.”

The words felt nonsensical even to his own tongue. They lacked.

“I – I’ve always had feelings for him - before I even known you, and—and—” Anders rubbed at a nerve starting to hurt on his left temple, “I never thought that he would return them - but he did.”

“What? So you mean the mood suddenly struck him one day and he confessed his undying love to you and you fell for it?”

“It—it wasn’t like that—!” Anders spluttered, heart thumping faster and faster for some reason.

“Then how is it?! You were just telling me this Hawke had never been your lover all this time and now you tell me that he is?!”

It felt like words were falling apart in his mind. Every time a phrase formed, it miserably died. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to stand his ground in the face of a templar more than anything. But something was squeezing and clenching on his heart like a vice and his brain couldn’t focus. All he was reduced to at the end was watching Hayden’s eyes as they blazed like the witnessing of a wildfire on slow motion. He knew it was spreading - he knew it was enclosing, but he was unable to stop it.

He thought telling Hayden he was the only one before would soothe things out… for some reason.

“You… you choose him over me? Is that it?”

“You weren’t supposed to be become close to me—from the start I told you to leave me alone…”

“Because I’m a templar,” he snorted in realization. “Then why didn’t you kill me? You had so many opportunities, why have you always stayed your hand?”

Anders’ eyes widened but Hayden didn’t make him hassle himself into finding an answer. “I’ll answer that for you. Because you learned to trust me. Because I proved to you that you can trust me. You learned to want me too, Anders, I know it.”

“Hayden—”

“You never said it back… but I thought it was all right. I was understanding. You needed time because you were - fuck. This is so twisted…”

“I had never wanted to drag you into my life, to escalate to this point—”

“But IT DID!” Hayden shouted all of a sudden. “I proved you can trust me because you said it was all about trusting one another. I proved that I was worth your cheating time! Are you telling me all of my efforts were for nothing?”

Anders couldn’t deny it vocally for some reason.

“I told you that I loved you,” he stated listlessly - almost to himself, “and you… you said you would give me a chance. And you held onto me - you kissed me so passionately. I felt your fingers dig into my clothes, Maker. Tell me why we should stop what we’re living.”

Anders’ voice dragged out. “Because I’m not a cheater…”

“But you made me believe you were! How many times did you have the chance to tell me the truth? Do you know just how much it hurt to know that you kept a public part of yourself for another person? Have it crossed your mind that I might…”

“Hayden…”

“And do you know what’s fucking hilarious? Is that I recall now the number of time I found myself imagining all kind of scenarios about us – about the tolls such a situation could take. About that side of me that couldn’t help but feel guilty,” a remorse expression curled of the dark haired man’s planes, “I felt guilt, Anders! I felt guilt for being the object of infidelity. For stealing away someone else lover! Then you come here and tell me every stupid, sodden thought I had was a lie? Do _you_ feel guilty about that?”

Words died like they were tied to a ball and chain and kept plunging off the ship of Anders’ throat. “I’m sorry…”

Hayden sized him condescendingly.

Oh.

Oh how that hurt for some reason.

“No, I don’t think you mean it.”

That made the mage’s heart keel over - for some reason. One of his hands went unconsciously to rub at his upper chest where his pendant was laying beneath his clothes.

And suddenly, as if the mood wasn’t dreary enough, Hayden started to laugh. Only this time it wasn’t the free, unbidden, bright sound that filled the walls of his clinic as he was telling stories to the kids that dwelled around. No. It was bitter and pitted and _not-Hayden._

“I can’t believe I was about to let you in. That you were probably worth the risk. When I read what you wrote I thought, yes, perhaps I could jeopardize. That you weren’t like the others.”

An obsidian shock seized Anders then.

Oh no - this couldn’t be. Words bumbled in a fit of panic. “No, wait, Hayden – you—this has nothing to do with it! You should change for yourself, for what is right, not for me or someone else’s sake!”

“It was A SACRIFICE I MADE!”

Anders staggered backwards.

“A sacrifice I was ready to comprise for _you_. I was going to compromise three years of what I built… thinking maybe you could be worth it all. I can’t actually believe it—” The words wavered and broke as he shook his head to the ground.

It was over. He knew everything was finally over and only then that Anders felt the words rise from the barbed pit of his insides like verbal diarrhea. “Hayden, don’t do this - don’t put everything into the same hat. You can’t turn your back on everything that the templars are conducting inside the Gallows, this—this is bigger than all the rest. Than me, than everything, don’t – I beg you. This is important for me. More than you think.”

Sentiments clashing in the silt of his mind, foundering everything entirely. Justice’s piece of mind with it.

“You said everyone deserves a chance. Where’s my chance, Anders?”

“I—I…”

Hayden watched him laconically, struggling for a good excuse. Because that’s what it was it in the end, Anders dolefully recognized. He fucked up. He didn’t know exactly since _when_ he had started to fuck up – since when the toll went into wheels. Since when it had become something irreversible. But it became.  And the worst of it all was how he hadn’t expected it to be hurting him so much. Not like an angry punch kind of hurt. Not like a stabbing sword. Not like a Holy Smite.

In the heart.

In the heart that Anders was felling the hurting. For some reason.   

It was so fucked up even a good excuse was imponderable. And Anders was left with only his eyes to speak for him.

 “You know what you are, Anders - you’re a selfish, cold liar,” Hayden spat virulently. “You toyed with my feelings. You said things you actually never meant until the man you coveted suddenly showed interest in you, and you’re hypocrite enough to not continue what we have now that your lie turned real. And still, you have the nerve to ask me to drop everything for you?” He let out a hollow chuckle and shook his head to the ground.

“I had never actually mattered.”And he turned away.

Anders’ vision misted as he watched Hayden walk toward the door.

“I really thought you weren’t like the rest, Anders.” The dark haired man opened and turned his face to the right – a profile where Anders saw a barren look and a glistening around his eye.

“But you’re actually something less.”

And he left. Closing the door behind him with a dull sound.

And everything around Anders dulled too. For some reason.

The blond mage stood frozen in limbo as he felt the mist around his eyes was actually the start of something brimming wet and itchy.   

He slowly stepped backwards until his legs hit the bed and sat down like a rag doll. He needed to sit because he felt winded as if Hayden had taken all the oxygen with him when he clacked the door shut. He looked around slowly with a half-stricken, twitchy face. There was nothing but the rickety table and chair to divert his attention, and his surroundings were looking as barren as Hayden’s eyes. As the air.  

For some reason his lower lip started to tremble and he felt that squeezing clutch the heart did when trying to hold on…

Tears.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way. It wasn’t supposed to turn to that was all Anders’ mind was fusing with.

He took conscience of the piece of bed he was sitting on at some point for some reason.

He eyed one of the two pillows, and brought it closer, over his lap. _For some reason._

Anders looked at it as tears sprung into his eyes for some reason then bent in two until his head rested between his legs, clutched into the pillow.

And he cried. Silently.

For some reason.


	23. The heartbreaker (Part 2)

It was common knowledge that right after dusk, everybody folded up their stalls and businesses and scattered off Kirkwall’s darkening streets, for they knew as much as their city was reputed to have a firm-handed Order and many patrolling guards throughout the day, those who oppose the law were as cutthroat and tenacious; and they used the night’s veil to do their own kind of… patrols.

But tonight, amidst the silence of the empty streets and the heart of the autumn evening, a lone figure was walking down the docks with not a shuffling sound in their footsteps.

Lane’s eyes leveled up. The gray glint of his perceptible eye flashed silver in the moonlight.

He looked up left and right and furrowed.

He didn’t know which way to go.

He lost tracks of the healer that morning when he decided to make himself scarce to the Wounded Coast to think by the sea.

He was empty handed and unarmed and lost.

After all, he never went anywhere when he came to Kirkwall. Very few places and alleys were knowable from his wanderings but at night, streets and alleys blended together and his fingers were starting to fiddle with a loose seam on his right gloved hand. He kept walking nonetheless until he came across a place afar from where two men exited while another swung the door open to enter. The opened door let lighting and faint noises out. It looked like an establishment of some kind. Lane felt a little relief and begun to walk towards the door at other side of the street on his turn.

He pushed it open softly and was welcomed with loud cackling and the clatter of glass against glass.

The place was a tavern. It had round tables scattered all around and some kind of music played in the background that was supposed to be soothing but only added more tantrum as it mixed with the raucous of the patrons.

Lane noticed that they were all big, grown men with blunt and calloused looks. Each of them looked the likes of sailors and raiders. To the far end of a corner he saw the bartender, who had nothing to envy his consumers and seemed to be cut from the same appendage, his tattooed muscles flexing just by wiping the inside of a mug all while casting a pacifist look on his surroundings.

Lane flinched a little at the sight of so many strangers and concluding that since he would have to walk through that boisterous storm of people to get to the barkeeper, he would rather just ask the nearest person to him and by contrast to the door.

“E—excuse me…”

The black haired head turned abruptly and glared up at him with his unpatched eye. He looked half annoyed and bored already until he gave Lane a second look, then an ample look.

“Ho ho! Look at what the tides washed in!” he snided with a wide grin. He had a blue bandana around his forehead and a scruffy beard bread in two giving him a dwarven look if it wasn’t for his visibly towering frame. His table companions were of the same caliber – the three of them hefty with coarse beards and blunt features.

They all paused in their card game and shifted their looks upward at Lane. Each of them begun to properly leer at the standing boy.

“Well, hello princess,” drawled a seated man while his eyes scrutinized Lane’s face and what he could see from under his cowl.

“Would you look at what we got here,” someone claimed out loud as he stood up, licking his upper lip lecherously. He was tall and broad with a messy, sandy-blond ponytail and a same like bandana around the forehead, giving him a raffish air. His exuberant acclamation had unfortunately attracted the attention of other tables around and Lane’s eyebrows twitched in discomfort.

“Did ya spike my ale, Ryen? Because I think I’m suddenly having the sweetest vision in a place filled with larcenous barnacle.” He approached Lane while his companions sniggered. 

Lane furrowed and inched backward. He got the attention of many now as it seemed like everyone had his head craned in his direction. His eyes swiped around him and fell on a knife resting on a close-by table near a half-eaten fruit.

“I’m looking for a place called the Hanged Man, please,” he said softly, standing his ground.

The blond man raised an eyebrow until it disappeared behind his headband and the men around burst into a rowdy uproar of guffaws.

One of them sitting at a center table exclaimed between cackles. “Hey! He’s looking for the _Hanged Man_ he says!” And more men started to laugh as if Lane just broke in the joke of the century.

The first one with the eye-patch looked suddenly abashed. “Son of a sea witch, I thought he was a gal!”

“I missed him for a woman too!” another clamored.

The blond haired pirate who was standing too close for comfort raised his other eyebrow. “Tricky creature… yet I’d be damned if I ever seen such fine features in anyone at all.”

A stocky man with short, black hair and an unkempt beard advanced with a tankard in hand. Lane’s eyes shifted to the knife and the small object slid silently off the table.

His eyes focused back on the man dangerously closing on him. “You’re in the wrong place duckling. You ain’t gonna find any poltroon wimps in ‘ere.”

“Perhaps he got a hot date in there!” A voice howled between cackles.

“Yeah? Someone’s waiting for ya, little canary?” Someone snarked.

“He looks like he bathes in milk every day!” Another chimed in.

The big, blond raider man grinned. “Should take a closer look at those eyes though. Clearer than any sea I sailed.”

“Excuse me I—I cannot stay,” Lane mumbled softly and retreated a step backward.

The black haired one matched his step with one of his own, fully entering Lane’s personal space. “Why so hasty? I’m sure whoever’s waiting for you ain’t worth yer time, pretty thing; and the Hanged Man is all the way in Lowtown. How about ya take a break and enjoy the company of _real_ men, huh?” His breath retched of root ale. Lane’s nose wanted to scrunch but the boy didn’t even allow his muscles to budge.

“Whad’ya say, pretty? Want to join us for the night?” When the gruff man rose up one thick, fleshy hand to ease off Lane’s cowl, he stopped as he felt something poking him under his belt. And when his eyes lowered, he was met with the glint of a knife pointing dangerously straight at his crotch.

His eyes darted up to meet Lane’s placid expression staring back coolly. The boy only shook his head softly enough not to shuffle a single hair and poked a tad harder. The men surrounding them quickly noticed the pointy weapon aimed at their companion’s genitalia and the ponytailed blond was the one to raise a laugh first before the rest of the tavern followed suit.

A voice resonated through the clamors, full of mock. “Looks like he already got you by the balls, Garth!”

Its owner approached the scene until he stood next to the blonde man. He was the youngest looking of them all and sporting not a stubble on his face like a cherub.

“The little canary is actually a clawed kitty,” the blond raider sneered, laughing at his companion.

“Now now,” the new man standing beside Garth and the colossal blond chuckled. He patted Garth’s shoulder. “How about ye give the cute thing a breather.”

“Don’t interfere, It’s between me and the canary. I’m sure he’s just spooked huh? I like ‘em  feisty so I’m sure we can still have a good time, ain’t it?” the man riposted, attempting a leer.

The not-bearded man chuckled affably. “See I don’t think that’ll be such a hot idea!”

“And why would ye fucking know?”

“He threatens to cut your cock off with a fruit knife. I don’t think it’ll be wise to force him to join your undoubtedly charming company. Unless you wanna wake up an eunuch,” the man quipped with crooked smirk as he shrugged.

The giant blond raider beside them barked another long graceless chortle. “Yeah, Garth, I don’t think your pretty Cassiopeia would appreciate you anymore if ye were dickless!”

“His whore?” Someone piped up.

“ _Favorite_ whore. She works in one of Hightown’s brothels no less!” the blond grinned.

“Shut yer fuckin’ hole. She’s in the kitchens, you cur wanker.”

“Tell ye what, you lemme deal with the cock-cutting tooth and you consider everything that was on the table yours.”

“Y—you underhanded lil’ yob, I know you cheated! Everyone knows how you’re a sly card shark.”

The man guffawed. “Aw c’mon now,” he drawled in a coddling tone, “How would I dare to fool a captain’ such as ye! And besides, no one saw naught about it! Ain’t that right fellas?!” he inquired with a claim toward the rest of the patrons. They begun to laugh, shaking their heads at the absurdity of such a claim.

“How ‘bout it? Hear you can buy a pretty wristlet for that sum,” he mused with a sly wink. The big, burly man who was still unwavering from his spot at a knife distance from Lane’s face twisted his face indignantly at his speaker.

And to Lane’s surprise, he took one step back from the point of the blade and by the same hand, from him.

The younger man fell to his side and for a second lane thought the man was about to throw his arm around his shoulders like he so casually did for his mates.

But he didn’t. Seemed to reconsider it even, which made Lane feel a grain for reconnaissance towards this uncanny stranger.

“All right then, gentlemen, I shall bid you goodnight and pray I don’t turn up missing a testicle by the morrow!” he laughed, showing off his set of quite straight teeth for someone his stripe. But the boy got the subtle message. “Take care of my tab would ye, patchy,” he added as he flickered a sliver in the air toward the eye-patched seated man who caught it without trouble for someone with one sight. 

“Ye just want ‘em for yourself you dog!”

“Yeah, yer much safer with us, pretty!” Another billowed from the bottom of the taproom as Lane turned away, heading outside, followed closely by the stranger who made his escape happen. Smoothly.  

Outside, the cold breeze hadn’t much changed and Lane was finally able to breathe in it at his ease. His long exhale didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you all there, tooth?”

The man was blatantly looking at him, eyeing him over more openly now that everything had calmed down and no one was poked through the groin by a knife. Although the man kept a distance for the cowled boy was still holding the little blade.

At last, Lane’s voice leveled up quietly into the night. “Yes.” He put the knife in one of his white coat’s front pockets. “Thank you,” he murmured, still never making eye-contact and begun to walk. Much to the bigger man’s startle.

“Hey, hey! Where’re you going like that?” he called, trotting to follow until he fell into walking side by side with Lane. “Hey, I can help you find the Hanged Man if you want.”

The boy didn’t stop. “Hey, you don’t have to worry. Don’t mind what those drunk yobs said back there, I won’t actually hurt you. I give ye my word.” The boy still didn’t stop.

“Hey, you can trust me, I got you out of the fray, didn’t I? I just wanna help you walk in the right direction. Swear to the nine seas I won’t touch you.”

Something in that prattle made Lane pause in his decisive steps.

“To where then?” he uttered, eyes set in front of him.

The man grinned again and begun to march leading the way. “You know you’re looking in the wrong place right? If it’s the Hanged Man you want, it’s in Lowtown, not here in the docks.” He didn’t get a response and when he tried to peer sideways, he couldn’t see any of the young boy’s features with all his cowl and hair curtaining his profile.

“Um… so from the look of it, either you’re a noble kid or you ain’t from here at all,” The man went on with casualness, “and judging by that tear in your coat, I doubt the first guess.”

He was met with silence again.

“Not a talker huh? Fair enough, you didn’t get an elegant welcoming after all - we turn from here, we’ll take the west gate so we don’t linger in the dock’s streets - See, I think it’s clear you’re a foreigner. A marcher would know how dangerous it is to traipse around once night falls.” He took a step ahead and turned to face Lane upfront, walking backward. “And what gentleman would I be if I let you strut aimlessly the streets of the docks and Lowtown.” He grinned another roguish grin, trying to peer for a reaction. But Lane disappointed again. 

And thus the man pursed his lips, seeming not used to be that disregarded. He had indeed being able to cut through the predatory flair that had lurked over him and attracted all the attention to him with a slapstick staging swagger.

Lane might be grating on his nerve endings. He stayed coolly guarded.  But then the man surprised him by cracking another smile - less sharp on the edges this time.

“My name’s Miguel by the way.”

The wind gusted and that was his response.

The man changed stances and fell on Lane’s side again as he inquired, “what’s yours?”

Lane was not used to this. Not at all. After realizing that the deliberate, enforced silence treatment would not be working, he cracked his lips open softly on a sigh and finally – finally – much to the misfit glee of the man besides him – peered back at him from under his cowl. He was smiling at him with a spark of anticipation in his ocean blue eyes. He wasn’t as burly nor hairy as his pirates peers by what Lane could notice from the deep cut of his shirt or sleeveless arms and his shaved face. His nose bore a scar and his lips were small and trained to curl into a swift smirk to get him out of trouble. 

“… Lane.”

The man called Miguel grinned widely as if he won a bet. “Cute. I mean fitting!” he bit his lip unable to hide his unsettling satisfaction.

“While on the topic, how old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Ho—” the man chocked. “Holy shit, are you serious?!”

Lane looked up at him with a lidded eye inquiring for him. “Yes.”

“You… fuck.” His brought his hands over his face, rubbing it. “I can’t believe I was thinking… and all those men back there…” he peered at him from between his fingers, visibly ashamed. “You look at least two years older.”

Lane dropped it.

Miguel sighed long and loud and scratched his wayward auburn hair. “Uuh, I… I apologize for them I guess.”

“It’s fine.”

This time Miguel paused to furrow at him.

They walked the stairs that led to the gate separating the dockside from the lower city, when the sailor broke the silence for the ninth time. “So Lane, what business d’ye have in the Hanged Man anyway? I mean, we thought you were a little bit older that’s why we guessed you might be meeting up with some… lover – but I guess now I’m a bit confused,” he said, seeming to be pondering to himself. “I mean I won’t judge ye or nothing! You’re free to do whatever the heck you want to – but uh… fine, guess ‘m just a curious freak,” he chuckled at last, doing that hair-scratch thing again.

Lane didn’t seem to be moved by either by the palavering, the question or the man’s blundering demeanor. He kept moving forward, following the raider’s directional steps. 

“Ye know, if you need help with somethin’… or someone, I’ll gladly help you.”

Lane side-eyed him. “Why would you assume that.”

The man looked startled for half a second by the sudden responding and supplied, “Well, you look pretty young to be looking for popular, ratty taverns four bells after dusk. If it was to rent a room for the night, I assume you would’ve done it a bit earlier; so whoever you’re meeting there didn’t bother to give you directions. So you tell me, little canary, do I need to _whet_ my knuckles in advance?” he questioned, grinding his knuckles together airily.

Lane wasn’t prepared to be taken by surprise but it happened. The man made him stop in his steady gait and leveled him with his eyes for the first time since they left the pirates’ tavern. And his gaze was met with a forthright one with nothing of the classic frivolous act.

“You really cheated in that game of cards?”

Miguel cracked a crooked grin as his tongue slipped to twist knavishly between his teeth. Then he pulled a card from his leather armband.

“You’re in luck I had this under my sleeve. Only three people in the Marches can do what I do with a deck of cards. Or else I would’ve never had s’methin’ to bargain with,” he winked. 

Pale eyes narrowed.

“So did I read in your cards too?” the young man queried with a smirk.

Lane turned and kept walking. “No.” the man followed and leaded them to turn down a corner. “But I need to be there.”

“Why?”

“… To start whetting too.”

The auburn haired man frowned incomprehensibly. But they arrived at sight of the infamous place and Miguel pointed at it. “Here it is, tooth.” They strode forward and Miguel pushed the tavern’s door open.

Lane drew his cowl over his head with more regardfulness. He made a brisk move to stray from the light and the heads that turned to see who had entered.    

The bigger man took notice and cast a global look on the surroundings and he steered them swiftly to an outlying table. They took a seat - and Miguel caught the eye of the young stranger locked in a specific direction. He turned his head to see what was causing such a steel-honed look. Something about that cowl, standoffish demeanor and white fairness made Miguel’s sense of mystery prickle. Pirate tales of uncharted seas and ice-cold legends speaking of foreign sights. And when you stared long enough into the permitted eye, you could see one of those beyond the permafrost of his iris. 

He took another subtle glance at where the boy’s attention seemed to be set and turned to face the latter.

“So, what’s the deal? Them are who you came for?”

The young boy acquiesced barely. Miguel picked up the card he had showed Lane and started to play with it between his nimble fingers. “The table with the crossbow dwarf is your business, huh?”

They were interrupted by a shadow that fell over them. “What can I get you, Serah?” Miguel abruptly adjusted himself on his chair. “Uhh… hey, what d’ye want? It’s on me,” he said with a friendly wink.

Looking down, Lane said “… Just water.”

The pirate turned to face the waitress, “Well, you heard ‘em.”

“Yes, and I’ll say water’s not what’ll put coin in my pocket by the end of the day. So I suggest something that’ll actually be worth your seats,” she responded with bored tactlessness as she put a hand on her hip, waiting.

Miguel, taken aback, eyed her with quirk of lips at the surprising coarse mouth on the quite ducky face. She raised a pointy eyebrow and Miguel leaned forward in defiance, smacking a few coopers on the table. “Well then, bring us one of yer thick stew and since I suppose ye got no proper grog, whatever best ale you got brewing in this rathole. _And a fuckin’ glass of water_.” He raised a similar eyebrow at her. She pursed her lips, grabbed the coin and swirled around. As she was leaving, the raider called behind her, “And tell ‘em to send the sweetened twin sister this time, not the catty one!” 

Lane watched as the woman stomped with more irritation in her steps then at the proudly chuckling man. But his attention quickly drew back to where it was fixed. Following him, Miguel leaned close and lowered his voice as if he was back on business. “So, little canary, what’s the deal with that bunch?”

Lane’s eyes squinted at them from afar.

Hawke’s head backed as he took a swill from his tankard, an arm loosely wrapped around the swell of Anders’ back. From his profile, he was listening and smiling at something the dwarf with them was saying.

“Do you know them?” asked Lane softly.

“The table with the beardless dwarf?” Miguel said, bright eyes assiduous on the seeming target. “Yeah, more or less. They’re a pretty uppity knit group; too _supercilious_ for my taste if ye want to know.” He moved on twirling his card between his fingers.

Lane narrowed his face in attention, listening while observing. “What can you tell me about them?”

Miguel glanced at him. “Well, I don’t know them all but I hear ‘bout some. See the beardless dwarf? He’s in the Merchants’ Guild. Pretty famous around Lowtown.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a web of business between the dwarves. Some of ‘em travel with us once in a while. They’re pretty much a sniffy, exclusive organization of smugglers and black market dealers who can pull strings here’n there.”

Lane followed with forethought.

“And big muscles there is called Hawke. From what I hear the shot caller of the pack. He made it big in the undercity thanks to working with the Mercenaries before he turned their leader’s lights out,” he commented with a laid-back disdain. “I just heard he found a big treasure in the Deep Roads – son of a lucky bi—” He halted, looking up at the cowled boy and his ethereal face. “… wench - just got out after everybody thought he was dead for sure.”

They got interrupted again when a bowl of warm stew was placed in front of Miguel along with a tankard brimming with white foam. Miguel lifted his head up and saw that it wasn’t the same maid who took their orders. “Well, that’s a sweetheart.”

The maiden smiled comically and posed the last of the order in front of Lane. A full mug of water.

“You should give lessons to yer friends on how to do that smile, doll.”

She indulged his flimsy flirting with a coy smirk only because Miguel had really a shark charm when he let it ooze. Watching the scene unfold, Lane couldn’t quite deny it.

“Here for you, sweet pea, but ye got to promise me somethin’ first,” he said, holding back a silver.

“What?” she asked with an amused tilt.

“Stay pretty.”

She snatched the piece of coin from his fingers with a snort and twirled on her heels, but not without giving the raider a good run for his money with her swaying hips.

Miguel turned with his signature congenial smile and thrust the bowl towards the fair boy. “That’s for you, frosty pea.”

Lane looked down at the brown liquid and up at the auburn haired raider. He lifted a pale eyebrow.

“What? It suits you.” He shrugged. “Now eat before it gets as cold as the first b—shrew.”

“Thank you.” Lane said softly. Then he picked up the wooden spoon and took a first taste. Miguel sighed and took a swallow from his ale. Shit, he wanted some grog.

“So where were we? Ah! That offish son of double lucky - fella’. Anyways, yeah he must be loaded to the neck now. So much for a doglord. I must give it to ‘im, he ain’t favoring no fools, I also heard he had a chat with the Arishok in their little compound camp. There’re rumors on what it was about but damn, if that man manage to put even the Arishok in his pocket, I don’t know if I want to be around to see what’s he up to.”

Lane kept a study eye on the said man as he listened. The gray of his eye implacable on the warrior who shifted to speak in Anders’ ear. He could see his lips move to something indistinguishable. “What about the rest?”   

Miguel raised an eyebrow at the farway table. “Well…” he begun to chuckle. “I do know pretty well the dark haired woman with them. That’s Isabela, a pirate like us. What I _do_ not know is what she’s doing hanging around that colorful bunch of fruits lately. I mean looka ‘em! The only thing they miss is a Qunari and a chantry sister!” he snided, watching the standing pirate laugh and cant over the table to speak to Hawke. “But I guess she was never one to surrender a booty, never mind one to her taste,” the raider contemplated with a smirk Isabela poking at Hawke’s bicep with a dark finger.

Lane didn’t respond and only took a drink of his water. A man fell on his hand and knees at the foot of their table and Miguel prodded his ass with his boot.

“Move slug flapping lubber or yer going to get a cutlass in the fat.”

The wasted man took one look at Miguel’s hip and his accent and scrambled to his feet to scram.

“This is why I hate this place; full of naught but wastrels and bilge drinkers.” Miguel sighed. “But hey, tell me, why do ye need to know about those guys? Hey, did somethin’ happened?” He leaned over and made a serious face. “Hey you can tell me, tooth. I was serious when I asked if I’ll need to hone my knuckles beforehand.”

Lane regarded him and turned toward Hawke’s table. “And what about the blond man?”

Miguel furrowed before turning to see. “I don’t know him; though hard to see with his back at us.”

“His name’s Anders.”

“Nope, rings no bell. And if I’m not mistaken, judging by the guard’s uniform and what they say, that redhead’s to be the captain of the guard. I don’t know about the two elves. There, now my turn to ask questions,” the young raider demanded intently, leaning with one elbow onto the middle of the table. “When we came here I thought you actually knew those guys. But it seems like you don’t and from the quite - entrancing glower, mind you - you got going, I don’t think you plan of makin’ them yer new friends; so tell me what’s the deal.”

Lane remained silent as he watched a serious crevice form between the bigger man’s eyebrows. “Hey hey hey, did—did they hurt you? ‘Cause I dunno what’s Isabela’s playing at but if one of ‘em did somethin’ bad to you, I ain’t have no ties to ‘em. And neither does my fellas if you know what I mean.”

Lane regarded him with a twinge of something more in his inveterate passiveness. Then he turned towards the far off table that was basking under a much brighter light, unheeding of all the calculating eyes on it from the darkest corners. “No,” Lane answered at length, “but one of them stole something that isn’t his. And I want to get it back.”

 

***

 

Mysterious people tell lies to achieve their goals.

They plot secretly in the dark to hurt you…

They can be more dangerous than how they look like…

Yes. Our mothers told us that we can’t trust the people we don’t know.

And regarding those we know…

_Hawke’s hand spanned Anders’ cheek as he drew him into a soft kiss. “Love you,” he whispered._

_“Love you too,” the mage responded into the locked lips._

… Well, we can’t always trust them either.


	24. The boy (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bring to you the BABE in all his eerie glory
> 
> I'm so lucky to have such a talented RL friend (l) and big kisses again to InspectorT for doing a drawing of Hayden xoxox

_ _

 

 

_Paranoia._

_It’s the irrational feeling that someone if after you._

_That you’re going to be exposed at any moment._

_Paranoia can sneak up on you, causing you to stumble at any turn._

_And just when you think you’re in the clear… Paranoia reminds you…_

Anders’ eyes snapped open brusquely. His wide ambers immediately fell on the figure snuggly wrapped around him. He exhaled and buried himself against warrior’s warmth.

_… That no place is truly safe._

***

 

Anders woke up in the very familiar twin single bed of the rent room. Very familiar since he had spent all night getting nice and personally acquainted with it.

All. Night _._

His body felt benumbed as he could feel his deepest tendrils stretch leisurely to accommodate to the post-slumber stance.

“You’re awake?”

Anders turned himself to face Hawke’s massive form sprawled on his stomach, an arm draped over Ander’s waist.

“Good morning,” Anders softly said with a genuine smile.

Hawke yawned. “Slept well?”

Anders watched him for a few seconds before saying “Like a babe. I do fear it’s already noon thought.” And as soon as he voiced out his concern, the blond man pushed himself into a sitting position, already shifting his legs off the mattress and by so, making Hawke groan out his loss of extra warmth.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s just past breakfast hour - c’mon, don’t bolt out of bed so abruptly, you’ll make me feel like a bad one night stand.” Sinewy arms reached and folded around pale, naked hips.

Anders couldn’t help but blush as he smiled down at the humorous statement. Describing their first time on a real mattress as anything bad was practically kneeslapping as every bone in Anders was still tingling with after-waves of the wild night that was last night. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile. Just… smile.

A set of lips and beard was grazing the bony patch of his hip as his memory drifted to images from their coupling right after they bid everyone goodnight and climbed up to the room Hawke had rented for them.

He remembered the soft kissing when the door shut behind them… the slow cloth removal… the first creak the rented bed did when they fell on it… how Hawke had asked about the slight swell he had in his eyes when he first joined them.

How Anders had lied through his teeth while hastily diving for a deep kiss because the stabbing memory of him spending the rest of the afternoon laid on a bed, crying in a deserted hovel until his eyes shut with tiredness and sleep was something he would _not_ undergo again.

Thus the hardness of the kiss turned into biting and the touching became clutching. And Hawke was all too happy to indulge tenfold. The raven haired man had been going with a softer touch at first. Caressing with his whole body as he accepted the position Anders picked on his stomach and knees.

Then Hawke had started a soft preparation followed by a soft pace. Anders understood. Hawke had wanted to make their first real night precious. By the book. But it was too slow. Too soft. And it made the mage remember to whom that softness had belonged first. And he didn’t want to remember.

He wasn’t permitted to remember. Not now. Not with Hawke in his arms.

“You’re good?”

“Yes… but…”

“But?”

“Can you go harder…?”

“Y… yes but I guessed you’d like a little sweetness before,” Hawke rumbled against his shoulder genuinely.

Anders turned on his side to fully face the man and touched his bearded cheek. “Yes, I just… I want to make love to the real you… you do things the hard way, the firm way. I… I want to feel you, _the hard Hawke_.”

Hawke looked down at him slightly adazed, lost between a frown and desire and Anders felt the need to add - “At least for the first round.”

It did the trick and washed away any trace of worry, leaving but raw lust on the warrior’s features.

And raw lust it had been. For the first round. For the second round. After Anders took a piss. While Hawke took another long pull of the bottle of spirit. After Anders washed his belly and hair in the bucket of warm water meticulously left in the washroom for them. After Hawke splashed his face and stroked himself on Anders’ vision lying ravaged on the messed sheets. After Anders knocked back the last of the bottle.

Anders smiled again. ‘Bad’ wasn’t the word and ‘good’ wasn’t doing it any favors. Anders’ deep, satiated bones would attest to that.

He got pulled back with a sudden burst of movement and fell backward in a heap of muscles.

“Garrett!”

The warrior kept holding on him as he dropped kisses on every surface of the blond mage’s neck.

“Was I a bad one night stand? Are you going to leave a displeasured comment to my pimp? She’ll whip me with her crooked cane and toss me in the closet,” he jested with a dramatized tone.

Anders laughed heartily and couldn’t help but mellow in the warm good mood and cuddly embrace the gray eyed man uncharacteristically displayed.

“Aw, poor darling, I was so satisfied in fact I might just kidnap you from that cruel woman’s claws.”

“Are you asking me to run away with you?”

Anders smiled at that. “Would you? Like that?”

Hawke stopped his snuggling to stare purposefully at his lover. “Only if I get a farm.”

The amber in the blond man’s eye glinted with warm mirth and the banter was so ludicrous and light-hearting it failed not to make Anders reciprocate.

“Only if it’s a kitten farm.”

A sneaky smile curled on both their mouths and Hawke finally burst into laughs. “Well then, they’ll need a big, strong mabari to protect them.”

“I’m not a dog person!”

“I’m not against _one_ cat either!”

And just like that, Anders soared into the mood a man was supposed to be in after spending a passionate night with his lover. It almost felt like Hawke did it on purpose. As if he sensed that something was off.

But no, Anders thought. Hawke’s spirits were unadulteratedly genuine. Not like him.

They shared a long lascivious kiss and Hawke finally stepped out of bed. “Let’s go have a bite, huh?” 

 

***

 

Upon descending to the taproom, Anders immediately spotted Varric at their table of last night, sipping from a cup. Anders closed the distance as Varric noticed his silhouette approaching.

Anders greeted with a perfect smile. “Good morning.”

“You look like a peach, Blondie.”

“Huh?”

Varric grinned, making a vague gesture at him. “Your face looks all peachy and shiny. The post-hanky panky look suits you.”

Anders’ cheeks blushed slightly as the meaning settled in. He took the opposite seat as Hawke came back from seeing to Corff and sat next to him.

“Gave Corff back the key. Varric, how’re you? I didn’t thought you’ll still be here this late in the morning? Didn’t you have ‘trusty’ hireling to contact to hoist up our gold?”

“Glad to know you follow the case closely. Well indeed but let’s say I didn’t get my whole beauty sleep last night—and speaking of sleep… when do you think your charming family estate would be recovered, Hawke?”

Two pair of eyebrows rose at once while two plates and two cups were deposited by Edwina.

“Well the paperwork and the proofs are all gathered, I plan on heeding to the Keep with mother right now actually. What does that have to do with… sleep?” Hawke inquired, taking a sip.

“Well, it’s just that you two were so… ‘feisty’ last night… it almost felt like a threesome.”

Anders’ eyes snapped wide. “What?”

Hawke chuckled. “Oh. So… we were kind of loud, right? Sorry about that, Varric. We didn’t mean to disturb your sleep. But that’s a bit tacky of you to throw us out on the first day,” he retorted with a bemused purse of lips.

“When you put it that way, it might make sense,” Varric retaliated, “but I have wall-dust on my bed and probably still in my hair so I’m speaking in the name of the whole Hanged Man’s well-being. You do like the Hanged Man, right, Hawke?”

Anders stayed mid-gape while Hawke despite the surprise writing all over his face was quick to break into a huffed chortle. “Shit.”

The couple bit their bottom lip in unison in a lame show of apology.

Varric in the end, feeling like parent before a horny teenage couple, dropped the serious façade in the face of the two self-conscious chuckleheads before him. So he sighed and receded back on his seat.

“Uh, well I can’t really hold it against you. Drop the act Hawke I know you hand-fiving yourself inside.”

And Hawke let out his naked, wolfish grin at last, complete with a deep chuckle. “All right then, uh, we’re sorry, Varric. Truly.” He glimpsed at Anders at the same time and saw a rosy spot dusting the man’s high cheekbone.

And how could they really be blamed when Hawke was looking at the mage beside him like that. “Fine, at least move the bed to other side of room. That should keep the dust from falling on my face at least.”

Anders couldn’t hold himself that time and let out a snorty chuckle.

They shared jibes between sips and bites until they were ready to move on.

“So as I said, today is the day I’m heading with mother to the Keep to see to this estate matter. I’ll pick her up on the way to Hightown.”

“Need any help with that legalistic stuff? I can accompany you,” the rogue offered.

“No, I’ll handle it with mother. But, I will come check on you once I’m done.”

“I’ll be at the guild alley.”

They stood up and Hawke turned to Anders, asking with a soft smile, “What about you?”

“Just the clinic.” Anders shrugged, mirroring a same sweet like smile.

“Uh, all right, all right, cool down the sweet, hearty eyes, you’ll give me a tooth decay for Maker’s sake.”

Hawke and Anders laughed it off and said their goodbyes to their friend on that joshing note.

But they didn’t enjoy a leisurely walk for too long together before they each had to take a different path. Hawke didn’t draw on too much public affection since they were in the middle of a busy street and only squeezed Anders’ hand once before letting it go.

“I will see you later.”

“Good luck at the Keep.” Anders smiled.

“We’re doing that heart-eyes thing again, right?” Hawke said with a crooked smile.

Anders chuckled, eyes twinkling in the late morning sun. “I think so.”

“We’ll have to work on that,” said Hawke with an upward flicker of his proud chin.

“Obviously,” Anders quipped back, amused by their unyielding staring despite the three foot distance they already put between them.

Hawke had seemed to want to add something else. His lips parted momentary but he quickly turned them into a voiceless smile and tipped his chin once again in a farewell sign. Anders did the same and watched as Hawke turned around indolently before he did the same.

 

***

 

Upon his arriving at the clinic, he had a slight moment of hesitation before the doors, and he resaw it again. The wood.

That clearing on the outskirts of the Keep. And Rolan’s face emerging from the shadow.

Advancing toward him.

That smile turning malignant the more he got closer…

_“What are you doing here? Trying to run away? Again?”_

He approached, his Grey Warden boots making scrunchy sounds on the leaves strewn on the dank grass.

He felt his body take a step backward.

 _“You’re still scared after all that happened between us?”_ his said with a voice that suddenly contorted mid-sentence. Contorted into a voice he heard too lately.

_Wait—_

_“I told you that I loved you…”_ And those blue eyes blinked green.

He felt the air thicken with Silence and his knees buckle under the abrupt shackles around his mana.  

A hand dropped against his chest and pushed him softly backward…

_“You should have never left me, Anders.”_

Anders jerked out with a gasp.  

He glanced around his surroundings and calmed himself, resuming opening the clinic. There had been one thing that’d been distressing him ever since what happened in the Lowtown house. And spending the most ecstatic night of his life was not enough to smother the anguish eddying rampant in his mind.

Justice had never been so furious.

Anders sighed deeply as he entered his familiar abode, his shoulders carrying the sag of a guilty man being dressed down for his wrong deeds.

“I know, I know I screwed up bad, Justice,” he was whispering defeatedly.  

_I SAW THE DREAM YOU HAD IN THE FADE. IT IS THE SAME OF WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT._

Anders shivered at the memory, unable to refute.

YOU FEAR THE SAME WILL REPEAT NOW THAT IT IS TOO LATE.

“Justice, _please._ ”

_I IMPELED YOU TO KILL HIM ALL THIS TIME AND YOU STILL REFRAINED._

_“_ Justice, it wasn’t so easy, _”_ Anders returned with saddened brows reflecting on a bucket of water he carried out of his private alcove, “I—I was trying to win him to our side…”

_HE IS A TEMPLAR, ANDERS! HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE THAT HE WAS ONLY INTERESTED IN HIS SELFISH NEEDS?_

Anders flinched at the harsh words. Could it be true? After all, Hayden did wash his hands off everything he read and seemed to have acknowledged out of his manifesto.

Maker, they were supposed to discuss it, Anders recalled now. His teeth gritted in defeated irritation and he let bucket down on a cot listlessly. He felt a pang of hurt and his hand went to rub on the firm pressure of a little crystal ball beneath his clothes pensively.

 _‘I’m the selfish one, Justice. I’m the one who played with his mind and lied all along’_ Anders thought privately to the spirit.

_AND YOU SHOULDN’T FROM THE BEGINNING. NOW YOU FEAR YET ANOTHER SIMILAR FATE._

Anders cringed. He tried to forget the looming consequences by drowning everything that had transpierced with the templar in thick molasses of sweat and pleasure. And it availed. Because he loved Hawke sincerely. But he couldn’t escape the reality awaiting behind the confines of a rented room in a tavern’s first floor.

The reality of that he had just pissed off a bloody _templar_. To which subconsciously made his brain do the link with another angered Rolan. And now there he was. Wondering if Hayden will follow on his footsteps. Imagining the most terrorizing repercussions such as storming his sanctuary with a swarm of templars in a bout of revenge.

 Anders watched as people begun to slowly enter his clinic. _Maker, what have I done_ , he thought with worry. Should he tell Hawke?

Someone came to him asking for help with a bad cut on his collarbone. Anders healed it with wisp of magic instantly. Maker, he didn’t know how would Hawke even react. From where to begin. What to answer to questions Anders knew will come forth in nothing flat.

Anders turned his back on the people. “I’m sorry, Justice…” Anders mumbled in sad sincerity as he pulled out bandages from a crate. “You were right from the start…”

Poor sods began to solicit his attention and Anders let himself be drawn to the physical woes of others. He healed an arm here and gave advice to a young man. He shared his elfroot with those who needed some and soothed another man’s bump off his head.

Justice was still grousing furiously in his head while he cleaned his hands in the bucket. The water turned opaque but Anders didn’t need to see his reflection to know how crestfallen he looked.

And somehow, as if feeling the deflated spirits of his host, Justice rumbled more softly into his core a final assertion.

_BUT I WILL STAND BY YOU, AND IF WE MUST FIGHT, THEN BY THE MAKER, WE SHALL PREVAIL._

Somehow that pulled a smile out of Anders. Maker but the spirit had never sounded so righteously in-tune with his name. He felt a lash of power and sprightliness whipping him up and he straightened. That was right. He had a spirit of flaming justice within him. He was never returning to the lone and powerless place Rolan had found him in once.

“Thank you, Justice,” Anders murmured to himself with a heartfelt smile.

He picked up the set of bandages and turned around when he suddenly stopped short with start, making a roll of linens tumble down the ground.

“Hello,” Lane said softly.

Anders took a moment to take in the familiar cowled boy. “Lane!”     

“Sorry,” the boy bent a picked up the roll. He offered it back to Anders who graciously took it. “Oh, it’s my fault, I was deep in thought,” he smiled a bit wider at the young boy’s presence.

He was so unchanged from the last time he saw him it felt as if he never left the clinic. The same pale blue cowl over his fluffy, pale hair arranged over his right side, yet not nearly enough to hide his angelic countenance, and wrapped in the same white coat and gloves.

“So, how are you? Oh, any chances with your search?” Anders prompted.

Lane followed behind him as they head toward a patient sitting on a cot. “No…”

Anders turned to look at him over his shoulder with compassionate frown. “Oh, really?”

Lane shrugged as he watched the mage wrap a bandage around someone’s neck as he talked. “I’m sorry I didn’t return yesterday… I said I’ll be back but…” he made a knot, “The… thing I had to do took longer than expected and…” He finished and the elf climbed down, thanking him. He fumbled with what was left of the white linen as he continued. “And yes. It took me more than I expected.” He squeezed a smile when he turned around to face the boy.

Lane was effectively staring back but Anders couldn’t decrypt a single thought over that androgynous visage. Perhaps there was nothing to decipher after all and the boy was just ingenuously watching. “It’s all right.” Lane said with a tiny shrug.

Anders tipped his head to the side and smiled at the diffident reaction.

“I just… I didn’t know where to go… I—I don’t want to bother you…”

“Aw you’re not, you’re absolutely not,” Anders interjected and as if remembering something asked with a curious tone as he moved on to some poultices. “But, tell me by the way, where did you spend the night?”           

He looked up at him expectantly as he waited for an answer but only got a rather confusing shrug. He put down the poultice. “W—wait, did you stayed out in the streets?”

“No…”

Anders’ face fell. “So you slept here, in the sewers.”

“I stayed by the seashore.”

“The seashore? As in… the Coast?”

Lane nodded.

Anders’ head jolted backward. “The _Wounded_ Coast?”

Watching the boy’s eye looking around hesitantly was all the answer Anders needed to soundly express his dumbfoundness. “Wha—I mean what were you doing there?”

Lane watched him with a plastic look. “I just like the sea.”

Anders’ brain stalled for a moment. In the meantime he tried to come up with a response to that, but the more he searched his mind and the boy’s face, the more he was unable to find an utterance for what had just been expressed. In the end he settled for a daintily confounded— “All right…”

He saw the boy cup his hands and peek around him. “Um, I washed the stain that was…” he pointed at the middle of his coat, “on my coat.”

“Oh. Oh I see. That’s good,” Anders smiled up.

“By any chances… do you have a thread and a needle… I… it’s the only coat I have and I’d like to fix it.” Lane uttered to his cupped hands.

Anders wanted to cross the distance and hug the kid. “Yes. Yes, I do, I have a little sewing kit in the back,” he answered brightly, trying to lift up the spirits of the boy by sounding more lively himself. He induced the boy to follow him. “It’s nothing fancy though, just a little box to not lose needles around.”

Lane stopped at the foot of the door as Anders stepped in. the latter turned and waved him in, enticing gently, “Come on, it might look a little dingy but I have nothing in here beside a cot and a cluster of vellum and sheets. I didn’t know you knew how to sew?”

“I learned.” Lane stepped forward into the clustered space. He surveyed the cramped place with half-lidded eyes flitting around when the blond man handed him a little box.

“You got to learn when you don’t have anybody to depend on, huh?” Anders smiled.

“Hm.”

“I know it’s cold, I’m sorry I have no other clothes to spare beside a flimsy tunic so how about you stay here and wrap yourself in one of those blankets while you fix your coat?”

Lane’s brows furrowed as he watched the man fuss around a bundle of blankets. “Here,” he tapped the bed-cot, “you can take it off and put this over your shoulders to not get too cold.”

Lane sat down hesitantly. The cot was plastered against a wooden desk pilled with strewn sheets and ink-stains – but something caught his attention. Something about — _magic is still gifted by the Maker everyday—_ and — _price of life shouldn’t be freedom and the price of freedo—_ “All right then. I’ll be just outside,” Anders said and turned to leave.

Lane waited until he left to start unbutton. He shed his coat off and quickly wrapped himself in the bundle of blankets offered. He sat cross-legged on the cot and opened up the little sewing box. He pulled off his gloves, stole another deep regard at the papers on the desk then begun.

A while later, Anders caught Lane emerging from his private space with a patch over the torn spot. He smiled.

“You did quite the good job. You might put my sewing skills to shame.”

Lane barely tilted his head to the side, looking sideway.

It wasn’t like it would be the first time Anders met poor, miserable kids. Darktown spared no one, Lane was no different - yet… something about this one young boy seemed… hard to perceive. The detachment, the reservedness… the mage thought it could have something to do with how he got that bloodied eye.

Anders cringed. Around, no one could see it behind that well-adjusted curtain of fair hair, but Anders saw it - and he wondered what happened in this kid’s life to earn him such a ‘scar’ as the boy detachedly described it.

“Thank you,” he barely pronounced.

Anders couldn’t help but smile empathically. “It was nothing, glad to help. Are you hungry? I think there are a few apricots in that crate over there. You like apricots?” Anders didn’t wait for an answer as he went to the small crate sitting a corner and picked it up. He walked back to where Lane was standing and put it on a cot. “Blast, just three left. Well you can take them all, I can go buy some later.” He handed him one while beginning to cut another with a knife. He gave him the first half and looked over at the small circle of children by the door’s corner. “Don’t worry, conditions are tough here but it shouldn’t bring you down. If there’s one thing about living in these circumstances is that it forge strong minds.” He smiled as reached to squeeze Lane’s right hand that was apricot-free in a supportive manner.

And he froze.

Lane wretched his hand away instantly and cupped it with his other one. Anders stayed struck for another round before he returned to his wits and very appalled lines etched his face at once. “L—Lane…? Why did it feel like your glove was… empty?”

Lane took a stiff step back which only made Anders more discomfit. “All right I definitely felt that your glove was fingerless. Lane—”

“It’s nothing.”

“Wh—what?” Anders sputtered, “B—wh—you can’t tell me it’s nothing! I know what I felt or actually didn’t feel! You can’t tell me that all the time, Lane, what is it, are you hurt?”

No response. Anders frowned. “Lane… I… you know you have no reason to be afraid of me right? I promise I only want to help you, just like I helped you two nights ago.”

Lane still reclined backward and kept his gaze perfectly evasive, much to Anders’ frustration. But he changed composures when he saw the boy downright shrink like a frightened pet. He evened his timbre.

“Just tell me what it is. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, I swear.”

Anders waited for the small lapse he knew would come between his question and the boy’s answer. Eventually, it came in a near whisper. “Just missing fingers.”

Anders’ mind froze.

“Two.”

“Two… you have two missing fingers? Are you all right? Why didn’t you tell me, I’m a healer—”

“It’s fine,” Lane cut across him. Anders clasped his mouth shut. It wasn’t an outburst but it was close. The first time Anders heard that voice soar up to something… firm. The boy’s eyes were firm too. Cast sideways but firm. “… It doesn’t hurt.”

Anders stared. What in the name of everything that was holy was happening? There was a young boy before him, who had a disturbing red eyeball and missing fingers and the only answer he was granted every time he wanted to help was that ‘ _it’s fine_ ’? That it was ‘ _all right_ ’? No it was not all right. “Lane, what happened?”

The boy sidestepped and begun to shift away.

“No please, Lane, I just - If you don’t want to let me help, at least tell me what happened. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Lane didn’t budge.

“Not another soul if you wish. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Lane, you can trust me,” and Anders punctuated with a tipped, soft smile. He was aware that he was doing a lot of egging on. But something about this boy was so eerie in a way that pulled at the substratal curiosity strings everyone possessed.

Low groans and coughs and chirps of the children playing in a corner were like a far away background segue in the lurid silence that fell between the both of them.

He watched the cowled face cast downward, gloved hands cupped together, fiddling in quiet tenseness.

He could almost see the wheels of the boy’s resolve slowing to a yield. Feel a first crack in the opaque mirror wall that exuded off the boy’s demure demeanor.

Lips parted.

“Just frostbite.”

Anders didn’t understand. He reached for another sober source and found that Justice too, didn’t understand.

“What?”

“Frostbite.”

“Frostbite?”

“Yes.”

Anders found himself gripping the edge of the cot where the apricots where laid for leverage. As in… oh Maker. 

“What happened to you, Lane?” This time he asked with no preamble, no soft healer-voice, no fudge and mudge.

Lane lifted his young, attractive head slowly.

Their eyes locked. And somehow, in that very instant and despite his high, Anders felt like he was the one being looked down on.

“I was looking for my sister. I got lost in a desert of snow. I… I almost died. But someone saved me. It was this,” he pointed to his hand, “or let it spread and kill me.”

Anders stood aghast. “Maker…”

Lane though, related the thing with the same like impassiveness he seemed to use for everything.

“That’s all.”

Anders stood at the end of his rope as if paralyzed by a glyph under his feet. But as he watched the boy relate losing his digits to the frost as if retelling a humdrum walk in the park, something else quickly joined his shocked stance.

Pity.

In point of fact, many things were pitiable down where he lodged. The poor, the hungry families, the children, individuals with none of the above - Lane was an individual now. Alone in the City of Chains, with no money, no place to stay in. Anders’ gaze drifted to the far off circle of kids playing away. He felt a lot of empathy for their misfortune. But he knew each of them was a brave little soul. You must be if you were born in such indigence. But as Anders observed in his time in the Undercity, they still found the life-force within to make the best of their childhood out of little nothings like games made of buttons, shoelaces and imagination that turned the mud under their feet to boundless grasslands, their sticks to heroic swords and their dolls to beautiful queens.

All that was needed was sparkling eyes filled with wild fantasia and Anders could almost envy that power they had to evade their surroundings for a lapse of time. No, the children of Darktown held more than pity in his eyes. But it all came to a dawn as to why this one before him was not like the rest. Why Lane was oddly demure to his surroundings.

It was not him. It was because of what happened to him; and Anders had a harrowing feeling that what had been divulged was only the peak of the iceberg. The thought itself brought his larynx back to function.

“I’m so sorry for what happened, Lane.” His voice fell beaten and insufficient and Lane’s shrugging response only made his propos feel all the more useless. And as a healer, to stand there before a sundered, scarred child struck even more. His hand balled unconsciously.

“Would you let me take a look at it? I just want to make sure if it’s well healed or… if there’s anything wrong…” Lane looked up as if Anders had grown Qunari horns. He was quick to clarify, “Don’t worry, I’m a healer remember? It might be too late for me to do something permanent but at least let me make sure everything is healed. Please?”

After another sustaining lapse of parched silence, Lane yielded charily.

What he saw next pulled at Anders heart. The young boy cast a prudent look around first. The clinic was far from deserted but they were standing behind one of the cots so Lane deemed it ‘safe’ and begun to pull at the knit-woolen finger gloves.

Anders saw them. Two sectioned fingers on the right hand. The index and the middle one. Up to the knuckle. The flesh looked old-healed and uncontaminated. Anders’ features creased in grief. But something inside Anders’ still spiraling mind thought that the pitying expression he was displaying was probably one of the reasons the boy hid under large layers of clothes. He was ashamed of himself. Or rather of his body. The thought branched Anders between consternation and sadness.

“Is there anything else?” he asked as he released he thin, handicapped hand. He referred to the left one.

A flicker of hesitation and Lane sighed with a listless, “Three other toes.”

Anders boggled. He gasped loudly. “Wh—What?”

“Healer, is everything all right?” It came from a familiar man who Anders had as a patient once. He happened to pass by them and stopped upon hearing Anders’ sharp intake of breath.

“Uh - yes, yes, I’m fine, no worries.” He swirled around when the man nodded and walked away. “Three other toes?” he heard himself hiss. Oh Maker damn him, he was making the boy uncomfortable again.

“Lane… I’m so sorry… I wish I could do something…”

“No need. It’s old. It doesn’t bother me.”

It hurt to hear those words. It hurt to hear that tone. So sliver-quiet and indifferent. He liked to think he would know if the boy was in pain, but somehow, it had managed to hurt more to know that he wasn’t. No. that it didn’t matter.

A thought swept across his head as to how old was the youth to have gone through such woes. He voiced out his wondering.

“Thirteen.”

Anders frowned as if the answer was all kind of wrong and villain.

“Thirteen…” he echoed. Anders had gone through much wretchedness in his life. And his body had unfortunately never been safe from physical pain no matter how blessed he was to be able to knit skin over bones and stop trickling blood. And yet, he never thought to pause and think of how blessed he truly was to have remained in one piece up till now. He could scarcely imagine what it must have been to lose limbs at such a young… so young age. If that wasn’t well before that. And to… _frostbite_?

He couldn’t even bring himself to repeat what seemed to be the mantra of the day. _Lane, I’m so sorry for what happened_.

He shifted through inquisitive eyes. “What about your eye?” he couldn’t help but pry because the thing still daunted him.

That oyster gray iris within red.

This one didn’t make Lane fidget or shift or recoil like his precedent reactions. This time, the mage witnessed the most hollow of expressions. As if the thought of it stirred no feels. Or if so, there were long since numbed.

“Was it the frostbite too?” Anders inquired softly to prod him.

Lane spoke lightly, “No. It’s another reason.”

“Oh.” Anders still frowned. Perhaps he shouldn’t prod too much. What he accidentally found out was plenty enough for now. Perhaps the boy didn’t even want to share that part of himself with him if he hadn’t pushed for answers.

He stood there for a minute, contemplating those unblemished planes until he suddenly broke the silence with a new heartening tone. “You know what, I think I can help you find your sister.” Lane’s eyebrows twitched. “Actually I know someone who can help you!”

“… Really…”

 “Yes! Someone who can… well let’s say pull some strings here and there,” Anders said with a smile.

The gray irises steeled - but the rest of the face remained impassive. “Oh.”

“Perhaps I can talk to him about you? I’m sure he’ll be of good help.”

Lane thought for a few seconds. “… All right.”

It made Anders’ face brighten. “Don’t worry, he’s very friendly. You know what, if you don’t mind staying and landing a hand, we could leave together when the last of the patients is gone and go meet him. What do you say?”

Slowly, the shadow that clouded Lane’s face from the recent dour topic dissipated, and the sheen that made the young features incredibly beautiful returned back as the boy lifted his chin up and let the sun gleam on his lily-white cheeks.

“All right.”

Anders grinned. “Well, you made those apricots wait long enough!”


	25. The boy (Part 2)

“I’m not sure I got this right. Could you repeat the last part?”

“I said It’ll be better if you lock-pick the door rather than shove it with my feet till it opens.”

Hawke took another intersection with Varric in tow, trying to follow the striding pace of the warrior without complaining about leg-lengths and other man-dwarf differences.

“So let me get this straight. Once upon a night, you saw Blondie come out of a house in Lowtown and now you want to break in it because…”

“I couldn’t shake the feeling he lied to me. I still can’t and it keeps niggling at the back of my head.”

“What, why he was exiting a hovel in the middle of the night?”

“No, but why he lied about the real reason of what he was doing. I know it may sound weird but I always had a feeling something was off that night and my hunch almost never failed me.”

“So it can’t possibly be a house call like he had said,” Varric said trying to find logic in the situation while walking. “Correct me if I’m wrong but you said he tends to do a lot of that too.”

“Yes, I know,” Hawke rebutted tightly, “I know, but still,” he stalled. He wanted to say about how the mage’s hair had smelled unusually different when he had held Anders against him.

They had gone through practically litteral shit but there were still lingering scents of mint and mixture of crystalline herbal scents he couldn’t even name but knew smelled lavish enough that Anders didn’t have the luxury to afford. He also knew how lunatic that would sounds if he voiced all of that out loud. And there was also this affair of the unknown individual Tomwise admitted to have seen leaving with Anders the day before that. So he kept his wobbly thoughts where no one would see them and instead clasped his hands into fists at his sides and solidly said “Listen, no matter what the truth is, I need to settle this one once and for all so I can move on to other things, all right? And I wouldn’t have dragged you in this if I knew how to pick locks… that is, in case nobody answers the door.”

He didn’t see it but he felt Varric’s eyebrow arch on him like the shape his crossbow.

“Your hunches are a dangerous thing, Hawke. That’s what I like about you,” he conceded with a smirk. Hawke looked down at him and cracked a small one too. “Fine! I guess lock-picking a stranger’s house could take my mind off finding where my nug-humping brother went off.”

Hawke took another turn. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

“Is that another hunch of yours?” Varric jabbed.

Hawke glanced at him again from the corner of his piercing grays. “You could say that.” And he smirked loftily. They crossed a thoroughfare until they arrived in the same street Hawke and Anders fell upon each others that famous night. Hawke stopped at once.

“It’s here.”

Varric took a look at where the warrior’s eyes were fixing. A hovel that didn’t look anything particular so far. The front door was encased into the wall and opened on a quite busy Lowtown block. Citizens were walking around, children were playing in the far end of the corner and there was even a large stall a few feet across from the house.

So far, to the rogue, nothing seemed suspicious about the place. His personal observation though wasn’t enough to stop Hawke from trampling forward.

Stopping before the wooden door, Varric applied his dexterous once over.

“Mhm. It’s a normal neighborhood so far. Nothing like the secret back alley I imaginated.”

Hawke did a _hm_ in the back of his throat, brought his knuckles to the door and _knocked_.

Varric scratched his shaved chin.

Hawke knocked again. They waited but nothing.

“Maybe no one’s home?”

Hawke’s eyes were narrowing. He silently knocked a third time – more firmly. They waited but nothing happened expect the close call splash of a woman who carelessly flipped over a bucket of water from her window.

“Varric.” Hawke narrowed his eyes. “Open this door, please.”

 

***

 

It didn’t take long for Varric to pick the standard lock of a Lowtown lodgings. Hawke stood over him, hiding his doings from view and keeping a eye on anyone who might recognize that they were breaking into someone’s house. But the door gave up quickly after a few deft fumbling and Varric pushed it slowly open.

“You’re bad influence, Hawke,” he stated softly as they took a careful step inside and closed the door behind them.

It was a little thing. Probably smaller than his uncle’s place. the two men looked around warily, inspecting for a living presence first. But it was quickly clear that no one was indeed in there. And as Varric opened a cupboard in the adjacent room, it was also quickly clear that no one seemed to actually live in there at all.

“Hawke are you sure you got the right place?” Varric asked as he came out from what supposed to be the larder. “I don’t  think anyone live here at all,” he said dubiously as he joined the side of the other man. “There’s no food, no provisions and the cupboard and shelves are more empty than a chantry sister’s pockets in Lowtown. I didn’t see a single dish.”

Hawke, who had also checked the other room where only two – thankfully – empty chamber pots greeted him, begun to frown.

“The only thing which seems used here is the hearth and the unmade bed. Almost like the perfect place to make another kind of house call—” Varric faltered and frowned at the sudden conclusion that flowed out of his mouth unselfconsciously.

Hawke advanced toward the bed.

He stopped at its side, looking down at it as if it personally scorned him - then leaned slightly and under the dwarf’s watchful gaze, reached for a pillow.

Then he brought it to his nose. The dwarf stayed silent. Hawke let it fall and picked up the second one. He closed his eyes and took a deep inhale.

And gray eyes clouded over as he froze.

Varric watched worriedly as the hand gripping the pillow clutched rigidly for a brief instant before Hawke tossed the thing away sharply.

The rogue gave the man the moment he seemed to need, still standing unmoving by the mattress. He couldn’t see his expression from where his back was to him but Varric spent enough time around the warrior to know what Hawke was doing, standing stock-still by that rumpled bed.

Regaining his composure.

 

***

 

Later that day, Anders approached the familiar tavern with a small body in tow.

“Come on, Lane, there no need to be shy, I’m sure the place isn’t even filled yet,” Anders addressed the boy who fell behind at some point.

Lane tilted his head upward to glance at the tall mage. From under his cowl, he was almost imperceptible. Anders sighed with small smile and walked back to his side. “Don’t worry, the dwarf we’re going to see is very friendly. I’m sure he’ll be of great help somehow, trust me,” he said, giving one coated shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Lane looked sideways and they resumed their walk side by side until they reached the Hanged Man’s front door.

Upon their entry, Anders steered Lane to sit at a table on a secluded corner asking him to wait while he looked for their man. The suite of the latter was Anders’ first place for that and he quickly climbed the stairs.

“Varric?” Anders prized the door open and took a peek inside. He quickly caught the familiar figures around the long table and hesitated.

“Blondie?”

“Hello.”

Varric adjusted himself and put his tankard down. “What are you still doing by the door, come on in!” Eyes diverted to the blond mage closing the door behind him. “It’s an awfully early time for you to be here. Rivaini hasn’t even _properly_ started drinking.”

“Yes,” Hawke frowned. “I thought it was still early for me to pick you up at the clinic. Is everything all right?”

“I… uh…” Anders fidgeted with words for a moment as every set of eyes in the room riveted on him. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine, actually I tried to come here earlier because I seek Varric’s help and… discretion…” Anders’ mouth pulled at the side while gazing at the lot.

“So you mean you tried to avoid our company?” Isabela put a hand on her chest in a dramatic manner. “Don’t say such hurtful things, sweetie, you might make Hawke here jealous.”

“I was more concerned about you than Hawke actually.”

“Something the matter, Blondie?”

Anders walked toward the dwarf and stood at his side. “Listen, I brought someone with me tonight that I wanted you to see.”

Varric’s eyebrows furrowed in slight worry. Hawke downright scowled.

“Oh?”

“It’s a boy who came to Kirkwall looking for the last of his family.”

The brows of the dwarf relaxed exponentially. “ _Oh_.”

“I know this sound odd but… this boy is…” Anders frowned, “he went through a lot. An awful lot and I really wish to help him; and in retrospect, you may be able to do that.”

Varric surveyed the mage for a moment before his lips broke into a smile. “Well, I could use a good deed before the day’s over,” he said, sending a knowing glance to the warrior directly to his right. Anders smiled a bit more widely. “How can I be of service?”

“Well, he’s downstairs. I brought him with me so he could tell you all the things you might need to help him find his sibling.”

“Very well. But why did you left him downstairs?”

“Um… that’s the reason I wanted to check first if you were alone before I bring him up. I wanted you to know first that he’s… a bit… particular. He’s very shy and very… withdrawn.” As he said that, he cast a purposeful look at each of the people surrounding the rectangular table.

“Oh.”

“Yes. I think it’s because of what happened to him… Listen I spent the whole way here convincing him that it was fine and safe for me tell you only because you might notice. He… misses a couple of fingers… and toes.”

Gasps were heard but Aveline was the one to lift her voice that time. “What?”

“You heard me. It happened while he was looking for his sister. I don’t want to get into details because it is not my place to talk about it. The reason I tell this beforehand is because it’s a very sensitive spot and I don’t want you to pry. He’s very reticent around people and I promised him you are a friendly and _discreet_ guy.”

“That’s not exactly a lie.”

“Yes that’s why I was kind of hoping to find you… alone. His social skills seem to be a bit… rusted. I wish we could come another time but I really couldn’t wait to give him a sparkle of hope in his eyes.” At those words, Anders’ lips curled. “Ugh. Speaking of which… he have a really bad scar in his right eye. So… do not pry about that too, it’s another sore subject he doesn’t want to talk about.”

It got Varric a bit preoccupied as he tentatively asked, “That bad…?”

“His eyeball is bloody red. As in the _color_ of blood.”

“Shit.”

“No need to worry, I don’t stick my nose in people’s personal affairs.” Aveline declared soberly. “Although I can see where your concern comes from,” she finished with a slanted look at the pirate.

“Only the interesting people with the most interesting and personal bits, mind you,” Isabela retorted with an unwelcomed wink.

“Isabela,” chided Anders seriously.

The woman turned to him. “I got it! I will keep my nose to myself,” she pouted, “anyway I was supposed to pry about _you_ and Hawke tonight, so now you just owe me for changing my merry plans.”

Anders’ eyes widened. Varric intervened, “I’ll make sure Rivaini behave… along with everyone. That’s good?”

Merrill chirped happily from her side of the table. “Don’t worry, Anders, I’m sure your friend will like us!”

Anders watched as Isabela leaned to pet her hair. “What’s not to like with such pretty company,” she teased, indicating with her hands at Merrill and Fenris on each side of her. The latter grunted into his glass as he tried to scooch away and met Anders’ eye for the first time that night. It just lasted enough to throw his daily batch of animosity and turned away.

Anders let it slide unfeelingly and turned to his lover with a soft whisper. “I can count on you, right?”

Hawke regarded him with something more in his deep gray eyes before saying as gently “Of course.”

The blond mage finally let a pleased smile. “Well then, I’ll go bring him up,” he said to Varric. “I’ll be right back.”

Everyone inside was already back to his chatter when a short while later, the blond man’s frame popped back on the threshold of Varric’s suite – only this time, a small figure was standing by his side.

“Hey there!” Varric called, first to take notice from his spot at the head of the table. It made everyone else pause in his doing and turn toward the door.

Anders took a step onward. “Everyone, this is Lane.”

Lane stepped inside as Anders closed the door behind them but didn’t budge far from that one step. He felt a warm pressure on his shoulder prompting him to reassurance and when he flitted his eyes up, he saw the blond man smiling down at him encouragingly.

The boy skimmed through the protagonists of the room as he stepped in from below his cowl, taking in the surprised faces and high eyebrows and steeled himself so to say—

“Nice to meet you.”

And the phlegmatic tone didn’t exactly give _nice_ credibility.

Anders, sensing the straits waves around the boy, compelled Lane to relax by whispering with a genuine smile, “It’s all good, Lane, don’t worry.”

The gray eyed boy took a moment to stare at that treacherous smile - and after dulling the disdain, he pushed a similar albeit poor one of his own and eased the cowl down his head.

A compact moment where everyone lapsed into distinguish inertia followed.

Anders watched how Varric’s bucked his head backward while Merrill and Isabela’s jaws dropped with the usual non-subtle ways of the two women. Even Fenris’ clasped demeanor smelted into unpremeditated suprisal. Aveline had to twist her neck to face the door, making it more obvious how struck she was. And his black haired lover - for whom stupefaction counted as one of the weak lines he made a point of quickly scrubbing off his rugged face - sat unable to remember how to sweep the startle as swiftly as he used to. And when such thing happened, it made the rugged man _frown_.

“All right then!” Anders broke in briskly, feeling like everyone gave the newcomer the awkward shocker minute it deserved. He prodded Lane to move and steered him toward Varric. “Garrett, can you please leave him your seat, he’d be more comfortable to talk close to me and Varric.”

Hawke looked up at Anders’ smiling demand with eyebrows that seemed bent on staying high on his forehead that day.

Or very low. “Of course,” he complied with a muffle as he stood up under Lane’s pale gaze. The latter unceremoniously sat at his place and Anders on the empty chair that Hawke had guarded for him in the first place. Hawke watched them take a sit unceremoniously dumbfounded too and headed to the only chair left which was at the other short end of the table and slumped down. Eyebrows still grudgingly low.

“So, welcome to my humble abode, _Lane_ , isn’t it?” said the dwarf with a cheerful tone when the boy took a proper sit. “I suppose introductions are in order before anything else.”

Anders saw Merrill trying to duck and peek at Lane’s face and quickly shoot her a flinty glare.

“So, I’m Varric Tethras,” Varric supplied, “On this side you have Merrill, Isabela and Fenris, and over here Aveline and then Hawke.” He pointed with his hand.

“Aveline Vallen. It’s nice to meet you, Lane,” Aveline completed mannerly on top of a smile Lane responded to with a meek nod.

“So, Blondie says you just arrived in Kirkwall. Is it your first time here?” Varric inquired.

“Yes.”

The dry word made Varric’s brows twitch toward each others. He darted his eyes to where Hawke got cast at the other end of the table and continued, “So how did you two meet?”

“He got stabbed in the middle of the street two nights ago,” Anders answered tersely.

“Oh.” Varric’s eyes widened. “Damn those night-thugs. There should be a warning plaque at the harbor for foreigners about street nights in Kirkwall.”

“We are trying our best to keep patrols in every corner of the city streets.” Aveline interjected.

“We were in a large empty area when I found him face against the ground and there wasn’t a single guard around to help him had I not been there,” Anders retaliated.

“What do you insinuate, that I’m not doing my job right?”

“I insinuate that I see victims of night bandits everyday in my clinic and that’s just the fortunate ones who’re able to limp their way back. It should be nice to fill those empty jails with real criminals for once,” Anders retorted, biting his tongue about his own attack a while back.

Aveline began to seethe. “Just who do you—”

“All right, all right, time out!” the dwarf called quickly.

“Aw, but her cheeks just started matching her hair color,” Isabela sneered.

Varric hastily jumped on that comment before the guardswoman spewed something nasty. “Do we really want to scare off the poor lad before he even got to memorize our names?”

“Don’t worry, Lane, it’s just their way of joking,” chimed in Merrill, addressing the pale haired boy with a candid smile.

“I was not joking,” Aveline fumed. Anders rolled his eyes. Everyone regained his composure and before the silence settled into discomfort, the host of the night said “So, Lane… you hungry?”

Anders answered again instead. “Actually we both are. Lane helped me around the clinic and we didn’t have much all day.”

Hawke’s chair screeched as he stood up. “I’ll take care of it. What do you want?”

Anders snickered mentally at the dirty ‘anything thick and hot’ pun that played across his tongue and smiled at his lover. “Whatever hot broth Corff has on the menu.”

“I’ll see what they got.” And the man turned to leave.

Lane watched him exit the room but his attention was quickly drawn elsewhere. “Anyways Lane, don’t worry, not all Kirkwallers are swindling thugs. Some of us are quite pleasant!” Varric said, pointing at the table he kept.

“They could also use decent.” Aveline flouted at the pirate in front of her.

“And less bitchy,” Isabela sniped back with jibe.

 “Isabela!” The mage glared. He hoped the daggers he threw with his eyes would suffice to remind the lightly-clothed woman of what he had asked from them two minutes ago.

“Rivaini.” Varric chastised lightly.

She batted a hand around her hair in a dismissive manner and laid back. “She started it.”

“Uh – speaking of childish attitudes, I feel the need to ask because it’s kind of smoke and mirrors for this one and I can’t seem to guess - how old are you again?”

“Thirteen.”

Varric’s eyebrows shot up for the untold time that day along with his numberless “Oh.”

He took a gulp of his beer.

“Listen,” Anders started soberly, “the reason I brought Lane here is because I thought you could help him with why he actually came in Kirkwall for. Which is finding his sister. You think you can do something?”

“Well… everything’s worth a shot. But I will need more details than that I’m afraid.”

Anders smiled. “That’s why Lane’s here. I figured he could help you with that.” he turned his head to Lane and tipped his head encouragingly. “You can trust him.”

Lane stayed quiet for a while. In the silence that fell, he let his eyes steal peeks at the faces before him, taking in the thin elf and her curious wide eyes and tribal face tattoos, the woman with the gaudy jewelries and the long dagger at the hip and the second white haired elf and who hadn’t spoke a word yet.

His eyes lingered on the red of the elf’s glass of wine when something inside him snapped.

“Her name is Madeleine,” Lane said candidly to Varric. He tipped his head innocently. “Madeleine Danaé.”

“Madeleine… sounds pretty Orlesian to me.” The rogue rubbed his chin pensively. “Hmm, perhaps we could start looking in Hightown first. Many hightowners and families are actually from Orlais and that’s not counting the Orlesians who are constantly in and out of the city.”

Anders perked up. “That’s right, it could be a lead!”

Varric smiled proudly taking another swig. “Do you have any idea what your sister could be doing here?”

“No. Why?”

“Well it could help us see if she came here for business or is she has a family here…”

“I don’t know. We got separated a long time ago… she’s all I have left now.”

“Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” Merrill chimed in with a sad face.

Isabela petted her hair. “It’s all right, kitten, I’m sure Varric is good at what he does.”

Lane observed them quietly and noticed how even the silent elf on the other side of the woman gave him a slight nod that could be depicted as appreciation? Empathy? Lane didn’t know but his attention needed to get back to the speaking dwarf.

“I ask because she could be doing anything… for instance, many merchants are from Orlais. She could also have gotten married.”

“I have no idea…” Lane answered.

In that precise moment, the door burst open and Hawke entered the room. He was followed by a maid who placed the tray of food between Anders and Lane and lastly sat a brimming mug where Hawke settled on the other side of the table.

Anders dug hungrily into his bowl before the door even shut completely and Hawke took a pull of his beer. “Hand me those cards, Isabela would you.” The pirate gathered the scattered deck and slid it across the table. “So, what did I miss?”

“Varric thought about narrowing the search for Lane’s sibling down to Hightown,” Aveline supplied.

Hawke shuffled the card. “Why Hightown.”

“They’re from Orlais so it could be a good first trail.” She then leaned to get the boy’s attention, “And by the way, if you need any other help, I’m the captain of the guards so don’t be afraid to reach out to the city Guard,” she said with wide smile.

Lane uttered a thank you.

Despite his falling-out with the Guard Captain, Anders had to give to Aveline that she was good at that. He seldom saw her pull such a broad simper but it didn’t skip his mind that it was probably Lane’s effect too. He softly nudged Lane with a supportive smile, fostering him to see how good it was already going.

“Uh-uh,” let out Hawke. “Care for a quick Wicked Grace, Fenris?”

“Deal away,” Fenris said.

Varric entertained the conversation, genuinely curious per his nitpicking nature. “So, Lane…” he drew, tearing the boy’s eyes from where it darted here and there. The dwarf’s cunning eye glanced toward his left gloved hand holding the spoon and his other hand kept gingerly out of vision under the table. “You’re from Orlais, huh?”

Lane nodded.

“You have the... clean look, haha. I’ve never been to the illustrious empire! How is it?”

Lane’s gaze dropped to the chunks of nug-meat floating in his soup.

Merrill peeped up wistfully with palms against her cheeks. “Me too! It’s such a distinguished place, I wish I could visit it someday. The Orlesians I see in Hightown are so intimidating though so beautiful.”

“Their hats are intimidating,” butted in the pirate, making most of the table snort.

“Even though I hear the elves that live there are no better than those here,” the small elf sighed.

Lane watched her with a slight depicting squint. He quickly noticed that he hadn’t yet answered the question. He could see that the mage’s dwarf friend was trying to be complaisant and smooth with his very standard questions. After all he was still the stranger around a table full of friends. He couldn’t blame him to be curious. And so far he managed a very polite curiosity.

But he was still not ready. Not ready for whatever was happening - encircled by the two men who broke his father’s heart after all the time it had took to heal and a bunch of more strangers. Not ready to _blend_ at all, let alone be ready to talk about himself.

About his life back in his homeland. His hometown.

All at once, Lane’s head swam with dispersed kids laughter.

His glazed stare landed on the glass of red wine that sloshed idly in its vessel again and his hand unthinkingly moved to the right side of his face - but as soon as he took notice of where his hand came to rest, recovered to his senses and passed the abrupt gesture as scratching.

Pale Gray steeled. “It is nice.” Enough of not being ready. “There are dwarves and certain elves who live well amidst the city,” he said to Varric and Merrill. The timbre of his voice leveled a tad higher and carried a flake of emboldening attitude that Anders beside him was stuck between surprise and delight.

Time for others to not be ready. “You can do well if you work hard.”

“Really?!” Merrill squeaked.

“Yes.”

Varric chuckled, rubbing his chin, “I wonder what’s a dwarf speaking in Orlesian would sound like.”

“Do you speak Orlesian, Lane?” Merrill rejoiced.

Lane hesitated before nodding tersely.

The black haired elf clapped her hands together.  “Oh!  Would you say something in Orlesian? Please?”

Anders’s body stiffened like a silent bolt that had goosed him internally, flashing the night same like words were uttered, inches away from his mouth… “H—how about we leave that for later, we should let him eat peacefully first before pelting him with questions!”

Merrill wilted. “Oh I didn’t mean to be rude; I apologize.”

“Man, I need an angel of the death right now.” The young boy heard the bearded man say from the other side of the table.

“You think you have a good winning hand?” Fenris chuckled deeply.

“It’s _the perfect hand_ ,” said Hawke with a smug smirk. The elf drew a card and returned the smirk.

“Not today, Hawke.”

“Is that a challenge I hear in your tone?” Hawke leaned slightly onward. Lane carefully observed the scene and the reaction of the white haired elf when the warrior canted to say the words.

“Perhaps,” Fenris responded with a small smile, drifting his gaze down to his glass for a second. And the space between Lane’s eyebrows furrowed slowly when he caught the prudent, lingering gaze of the elf on Hawke when this latter threw his head back for a long quaff.

He put the glass down and seized Fenris with smug, half-glazed eyes. “Bring it on.”

It all happened very swiftly. An action-reaction thing that only an outsider could have noticed.

And if eyes could smile, anyone around that table would have noticed him too.

 

***

 

Conversation diverged from that point as Varric asked a few more inquiries about Lane’s fabricated sibling to which the boy presented with fabricated lies. All the while, the atmosphere stayed jaunty and animated under Lane’s presence, with everyone drinking and jumping in trifle banter all around him. He took in every person in the suite one by one silently as they all joined in a couple of card games. And despite the distance, Lane could feel every time Hawke’s eyes rested on Anders while this latter was busy speaking to _him_.  

Eventually, they started to call it a night starting with Aveline who stood up first and slowly everyone begun to dispatch.

Hawke approached Anders in the midst of everyone bidding their farewell. Seeing the intent look on the dark haired man, Anders stepped up from Lane’s side.

“I rented the same room as last night. That’s fine with you, right?” Hawke said lowly.

“Err, about that, I was thinking of spending the night with Lane at the clinic.” Anders preemptively said back with a whisper. It made Hawke not-whisper a—

“What?”

“I just don’t want to leave him alone, he had such a gruesome night on his first day here and besides, you could use the time to spend with your mother,” Anders explained softly. “We barely got back and she must really need your presence at her side after what happened.”

Hawke frowned deeply. “Well… yes but - I spent the whole morning with her for the estate matter.”

“Oh, that’s a good thing, I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to ask you how it went but I really don’t want to leave that poor, lost boy alone.”

“Anders.” Something in that voice caught Anders’ attention. Sharply. Hawke advanced on him until it couldn’t be more obvious that they were discussing something personal. “I didn’t see you all day. I don’t even know what you’ve been up to,” he added cryptically. 

“Garrett, he slept in _The Wounded Coast_ ,” Anders pointed out with a hushed hiss, barely moving his lips.

Their frown comically matched under Lane’s wooden stare. Anders yielded with a soft, “I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?”

“I have a meeting with an administrative counselor at the Keep tomorrow.”

“Then perhaps in the evening,” the blond mage suggested as he headed toward the door.

 

***

 

Paranoia.

It’s the irrational feeling that someone is after you.

_Anders paused outside of Varric’s suite and turned with a discreet simper. “Good night.”_

Or after the ones you love.

_Hawke watched him intently. “Good night. Stay safe.”_

But it’s no longer paranoia…

_Lane turned around too and held Hawke with wintry eyes for a flitting second before Anders’ hand fell on his shoulder. “You too.” Smiled the mage before the two disappeared out of view._

When someone really _is_ out to get you.


	26. The ocean's soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is inspired by the song Ocean Soul by Nightwish. Check it out if you want to dip a toe into Lane's misty persona.
> 
> On another segment, comments are welcomed. I consider this story as much a fanfic as an original work because of all the Original primary characters joining in. That's why despite being in another fandom, I still want to deliver and narrate this story. When I think about stopping, I think about all those people who have kudoed, subscribed, bookmarked and especially showed their feelings through visible words. the frustrating part is that this effing tale has just begun! and I do want to surprise you with how far it'll blow/deep it'll sink. So despite the typos and the flaws, to you my 3765 hits, are you still interested?  
> Otherwise, thank you for the support thus far. Oh by the way, I changed Anders' picture in the cover. I found this one brought to me by SerAndersPoutyMouth to do Anders' looks flawless justice (l)

_Darktown is a very misleading place._

_If you want to roam it, you must beware its trickery paths and tunnels. The cunning eyes. The swift fingers._

_But most of all in Darktown, nothing’s more delusive than a smile…_

“Hello.” Anders beamed over Lane’s lying body. His eyes had only begun to crack and flutter open in the alcove of Anders’ personal space when he got a faceful of Anders’ head looming above him with a wide smile.

The mage eased away to stretch and let Lane do the same. “How did you sleep?”

“Good.” The mage had let him have his cot while he slept on the ground covered with a blanket. He tried to refuse but the man had been solemn.

Anders’ eyes fell on the book Lane was reading from before his eyes had shut last night. It was a simple title about herbal healing and some history oddity he’d picked up - with Anders’ permission assuredly - while the latter engaged in his usual writing.

“You didn’t bookmark the page where you stopped?”

“No. The bookmark was already on another page. I didn’t want to change it.”

Anders awed internally. “You could have folded the corner of the page.”

Lane half-shrugged and looked like he wouldn’t have _dared_ anyway.

The morning was an overcast one with a cold breeze that carried the scent of rain soon by. Anders set about opening the clinic and waiting for the day to start in his usual manner. He handed Lane a loaf of bread and asked many times if he was sure he wished to hang about the clinic despite the clearly unsavory vicinity and lack of entertainment for such a youngster. But then he was also quick to find out that Lane too, had a clear lack of what to do.

At one point he asked softly for piece of paper and a quill. Anders handed him both and after a moment of watching the boy sit on a crate and scribble with his cowled head down, he tipped his head to the side and wondered with a curious smile, “What are you writing?”

“… Something.”

The dry, single word made the healer’s smile still on his lips, but not his brows which reached a comic height. Anders acquiesced politely with a little “All right,” and gave the boy his privacy.

But just when he returned his vials, a blare echoed from his door as a man barged in suddenly, dragging with him the origin of the clamor.

It came from another man hauled up by the force of the first fellow and a young woman whose face was caked up with blood. Lane bolted up from the terrifying sight as Anders ran to them immediately.

The man in the middle was literally carrying his intestines, pushing them back into the grotesque laceration in his stomach. The woman screeched for help and they ended up collapsing not far from the threshold. She kept begging even when Anders had already put his hand on the bloodied belly.

Lane stood transfixed to his spot, back against the wall as he watched with frightened eyes all the gore coming off the sight that brutally befell upon his eyes. His bewildered posture got shaken up by Anders’ call for him to shut the doors. He jolted as the man delivered a grating howl of pain and crossed to the clinic’s doors to close them.

The man was screaming on top of his lungs, Lane watched. The two people that brought him were holding his arms to his sides, unable to do much to the rest of his trashing body. Up close now, Lane could see that his stomach was not the only excruciating injury the poor sod carried. One side of his neck was as open as a gutted trout. To Lane’s shivering dismay, he could see the blackened flesh of the inside that mixed with the dark blood.

“He’s dying,” the woman deplored after the man delivered another screeching shout to the high ceiling.

Anders hands shot to his opened neck. “No, no, he will not!”

The man holding the other arm rasped with a frown, “You can still save him?”

 Suddenly, Anders was shimmering with a white aura. He didn’t respond but the sight of him seemed better than any words of hope Anders could have uttered. Lane for his part was for the second time suddenly brought to a grinding halt by the view before his eyes. He watched with perplexed, pale grays as the mage transfused his magic into the slashed neck - hands barely hovering over the injury, healing all while the man vociferated himself in shuddering agony - but Anders didn’t once cringe or back off. No, his eyes looked rather vibrant. As if the purpose of the day had finally begun. And it was probably that - the purpose of this place. _His_ … purpose? Saving people? Like that baby? Like all those people who came in from yesterday? Like him three nights ago? Lane stood stunned as he watched Anders plunge his bloodied hands into the gore of the man’s stomach, trying to slowly push back inside the appearing organs, dauntlessly pouring his magic into the lying body.

He stood there and watched with parted lips and cupped fingers until Anders brought one hand to his forehead, wiping at sweat. And something in him unclasped as he watched the pale skin coming off streaked with blood and he jolted in the direction of a cot where rags and linens were. He grasped a piece of cloth and strode to Anders’ side, falling to his knees beside him.

“Here.”

Anders looked at him, then at the rag in the gloved hand and back to Lane’s visible eye. It was wide with fear, yet clear with intent. Anders took the cloth and wiped the blood and the remnant of sweat from his face. He pushed all of the insides back into the opening gash as the man vertically spat a gobbet of dark blood and it was at that moment that the woman fainted on the spot.

“Ariela!” the other man called out at once.

“Shit.” Anders scrambled to her side and put fingers on her neck. “She’s alive. She just passed out.”

“Mmmgh _aaargh_ _please—”_

“Lane.” Anders got back to the man and turned to face the boy who stiffened upon hearing his name. “Can you hold his other arm, please?”

Lane’s face contorted with dither, but a steeling resolve took upon his nerves out of nowhere and he compiled.

And the mage worked his magic and Lane watched with awe-struck eyes as skin and flesh knitted underneath a white halo of immaculate magic. The foul stench of blood was suddenly lost to him. His mouth opened in something close to rapture as he witnessed the miracle of a man brought back from the cusp of death for the first time.

Watching, he wondered how it felt… was it the same as—until Anders raised his head toward him. “Lane, can you bring me a vial of lyrium from that crate over there?”

Lane glanced over where Anders indicated.

“Here.” The blond man turned and saw a vial of lyrium in the boy’s hand; next to him was the whole crate. The motions in his busy hands halted for a few seconds as a new kind of frown drew on his brow. He looked at Lane, the crate who’d been on the other side of the clinic a second ago, then Lane again.

“Healer?” the man holding the left arm called out urgently.

Anders blinked and took the vial, drinking up the blue liquid so he can put the last touches on the man who - unbeknown to Lane’s attention - had begun to slowly quiet down, deafening shouts dwindling to gasps and pants.

Pale grays took into the reborn sight in astringe intensity. Anders spoke. “It’s over. He’s well now.”

The second man let out a drudging sigh and bowed his head in exhaustion. But as soon as he did so he jerked up. “Ariela, she—”

“Don’t worry, I will put him to sleep first. Help me get him on a cot.” They did. Anders hovered his hand over him and the man fell asleep instantly. He went to where the passed out woman and Lane were still left and crouched to her side. With a wash of magic, the girl was brought back to consciousness. Then Anders let himself sigh at last.

“Wha—what happened?” the woman gasped, touching her chest and throat.

“You fainted, probably from the sight of too much blood.” Anders supplied.

“My—my husband—” she rasped, looking furtively around, Anders put a hand on her shoulder to calm her distress. “He’s alive. I healed his wounds. He is asleep now.” And he finished with a reassuring smile. The young woman glanced up to where the other man standing by the cot nodded to her then back at Anders and suddenly she was all over his neck.

“You saved my husband! Bless you! _Bless you_ ,” she cried - literally - holding Anders in a clutching embrace that almost toppled him on his back from the sudden pounce. Lane watched from his spot on his knees with start.

“He was dying and you brought him back to _life!_ ” She extracted herself enough to stare into the mage’s eyes. “ _You are a life savior,_ ” she proclaimed wondrously to Anders’ face with wet, swollen eyes before she buried back into the blond man’s breast. “He was my only family and you saved him…” she wept.

Anders was patting her back all along, smiling wearingly. “I did what I had to.”

“No, you did it because you’re a blessing to us, poor, forsaken people.” She reached in her pocket and took out a small pouch of coin. “It palters for what you accomplished but there’s more in here than how much my wedding band cost.”

 Anders raised a hand between them. “No. It’s not necessary. And if you know about me, you’d know there’s no need for that.”

“And I won’t leave this place until you accept this small show of gratitude,” the woman rebuked with a sudden adamant tone. “My husband is my whole life,” she said with burning eyes. “He’s my love, my family, my _childhood friend_. And by bringing him back to life, you also brought me back to life.” Her voice trembled by the end. Anders looked into her steadfast yet tearful face, the usual soothing words lost to him for the first time.

“Take it,” she said with unswerving resolve that slightly swerved with a concluding sniffle.

Anders regarded her and smiled warmly before saying “How about this; your husband, he will need some elfroot and a few balms that would help him recover more rapidly when he wakes up. So how about you purchase them from me?”

Lane watched as Ariela actually blushed a deep vermillion that showed in spite of her face already matted with blood and dirt. She stayed wordless for a moment with her upper body still semi-splayed onto Anders, her hands still grappled onto each of Anders’ sleeves. And suddenly, they shook.

“The upside world might have their chantry, but it’s _you_ who’s doing Andraste’s work in this city.”

As she pulled a stumped Anders into a hug where she mostly buried her head into his chest, Lane sat there, still kneeling on the same spot, more befuddled than Anders was supposed to be, as if he was almost used to that kind of declaration.

Finally, she extracted herself from Anders’ lap, and nodded with a lit up smile that enlivened her whole face despite all the dried grime from whatever ordeal they had gone through. They stood up together and she followed Anders to where he handed her water for her dried throat and everything she would need. She folded it up in a rag and passed him the pouch of coin with a proud chin.

“Gratitude, Serah.” The other man said with a small bow as he joined the young woman’s side.

Anders smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“Will he sleep for a long time?”

“Yes. Unless someone wakes him up physically, he will rest calmly now.”

“Can we… leave him here for a short time while we go back home just to wash ourselves up?”

“Of course. There’s no hurry. Cook up something warm for his return, you can mix the elfroot in the food too.”

Ariela nodded with a mystified smile.

“Come, Ariela, let’s also go fetch him new clothes.”

They headed to the doors and before the young woman crossed the threshold, she cupped her hands to her chest and tipped her head in a salute toward Anders. Oh, and it almost looked like the Fereldan salute.

Lane watched as Anders all but slunk into the closest cot and let out a hefty sigh. He watched with confounded eyes, still stationary on his spot on the ground until it was finally clear everything was truly over and the upheaval was finished. Then he peeled himself slowly off the ground.

Anders met his eyes and Lane realized it was not yet over.

“You.”

The cubital muscle in the boy’s forearm spasmed. Anders startled him with a dash.

“How did you—just there you—” He stood in front of him. “You used magic!”

Lane withdrew. “No.”

“Yes you did! How would you have brought me the lyrium without moving from my side?!” Anders gushed. Then he quieted to suck in a breath. “ _You are a mage._ ”

Lane looked at him. “No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” but a furrow joined the flummoxed lines of his face. “Lane, please, if there’s one person in Thedas to whom you can tell without an ounce of fear that you’re a mage, it’s me. Please know that.”

“But I’m not a mage.”

“Lane…”

“I’m not.” The boy responded with a muster of sturdiness. Then it was he’s turn to frown as he saw the look of almost hurt twist Anders’ features. He fiddled with his gloved fingers thinking as fast as he could what to do. How far was he permitted to take this - to trust this man.

He didn’t plan any of what had happened in the last couple of days. He moved on the spur of his anger, despise and hatred for this unfaithful, treacherous man who stomped on his father’s heart with that bearded warrior.

No, he made a resolution in that harbor. Whatever his course of action, he would _not allow_ anyone to hurt the only person who didn’t abandon him.

Who sacrificed everything.

His wringing fingers turned into a trembling cupped fist.

But then, this man turned to be so…

Incredible…

 So Lane needed to think.

He gazed up at Anders; his still sweaty face and bloodied hands. “I… I just move things around,” he let out quietly.

“Huh?”

“It’s not magic. Just…” His throat knotted. Just… A shiver trickled down his backbone.

It had been a long time since he felt that crippling fear seize him. Just thinking about that ‘just’ brought back the box up from the ocean’s abyss.

So, seemed like he wasn’t completely ridden of it. “Just - moving things.”

“Moving things…?” the blond mage reiterated to make sure he comprehended. He tilted his head, sun-colored strands falling from his loose half-ponytail.

“Yes,” Lane said slowly. To Anders at least. Inside, Lane’ pulse hammered in his wrist joint.

“Lane,” Anders restarted with more softness, “ _I_ think you’re a mage.” And he said so with such a thrill it threw Lane off balance and he didn’t know the man yet so he couldn’t be sure if that was his way of sounding… was he _cheerful?_  “You could have told me—oh well, obviously I don’t need to warrant a guess into why you wouldn’t have had.”

Between confusion and hesitation, Lane mumbled, “Listen, I really do not think I’m a mage. I mean I never used fire or I—Ice…”

“Well… well perhaps you are still too young! I mean the first time my magic showed I was only a year younger than you!”

Lane regarded him unsurely for at least six reasons. Then, Anders took on a quite sudden, serious tone, “Now I know you’re scared; but you don’t have to,” he stated with eyes that bore a fierce sangfroid like the still of the sea before the tempest. “I have a new purpose. And it is to change the norm for the mages.”

Lane’s grays slanted like a leery cat and from beneath his long eyelashes as he said “What?”

Anders moved forward and put a hand on Lane’s left shoulder. “It’s time for the persecution of mages to rescind. Stay strong and you might see a new dawn for mage kind. Soon.” Lane’s eyes widened like two gray fluorites hit by the light.  “I refuse to see another mage suffer for a Maker’s given gift.”

And he tipped with a concluding smile as if he didn’t just spurt what could be considered the most equally dangerous and demented threat of all times. As far as that norm rode up.

It didn’t yet fail to stir things deep inside him.

 _What was this man?_ “… All right.”

“Good.” Anders nodded and bent to take something from the crate Lane had brought down without moving.

A flask of water.  “Um. I need to go for a while.” He moved past Anders to where he had been sitting before.

Anders wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Oh. Of course.” He watched as the boy picked up the piece of paper he’d been scribbling on and folded it in his pocket. “Oh, by the way, I’ll most certainly be seeing Varric tonight at the Hanged Man, would you like to come with me? He might have news!”

Lane looked up at him from over his shoulder, assessing his bright expression. His eyes glazed for a brief momentum, thinking, before he nodded, straightened and turned fully to mutter, “All right.”

But before he put another foot on the other side of the door, Anders spoke again. “You know, I’m glad you haven’t shown your magic yet,” he smiled, “if you wish, I’ll gladly help you make sure your magic doesn’t show in a burst of a flaming barn for instance.”

Lane studied him with a prick of confusion and the healer grinned knowingly. Soft gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he nodded with an assented “Mm.”

 

***

 

“Could you take this to Armysia?” Lane handed a bottle. Inside was a rolled piece of paper. The salty breeze of the Wounded Coast’s midday air swooshed over the sand, taking Lane’s cowl off his head with it like the gentle touch of a hand. Lane was crouched down on the tip of the shore where the water licked the sand with his knees drawn to his chest and arms around them.  “I don’t want her to worry since I was supposed to be back for long time now.”

Waves sloshed leisurely. “I am so lost.” There was an unsettled frown wrinkling at his fair brows and even his eyes searching the sand evinced the confusion he voiced out. “I don’t know what to do… I… what do I do now… You know why I had to stay. I…” Lane’s face pinched. “I couldn’t leave after what I saw. That treacherous man… betrayed dad. Breaking his heart when I thought I’ll never see him this happy again. _How dare him_. _They have no right._ ” His voice tightened like the grip on his thighs. “It was supposed to be over. _It was supposed to be our turn to be happy!_ ”

The being in front of him tilted its head. A long tail rippled above the water like the idle tail of cat getting pets. Lane lifted his eyes to meet round, coral irises. “But he is so _kind_ , Leucoisa, he heals the people freely and so selflessly, if you saw him this morning with that woman, she called him a blessing… a life savior…” he furrowed, “doing Andraste’s work… That woman, that newborn, me… he never hesitates. Every day I am more at loss. I thought there would be no remorse in exacting revenge on such a treacherous person but,” Lane put a hand to his covered head in a show of frustration.

_“He’s so kind and selfless. Children love him too. I think you would like him, Lane.”_

Lane stalled.

_“He’s not like any other!”_

His father filtered through the fore of his mind, back then bright and upbeat. He was right about everything. All at once, he could see why the mage stood out in his father’s eyes.

He was good. He could see how good he could be for his father.

“ _I… I trust him._ ”

Gloved hands balled into fists. No. He wasn’t good. He let him down. He betrayed that trust. The boy’s stance steeled, addressing the lady half in the water with a prick of enmity. “And now I don’t even know what I’m doing, sitting in the same table as that obnoxious lot of his, interrogating me about _myself!_ I… I did want to get close to that man… to both of them - I wanted them to hurt as much as they hurt dad - but I don’t know what to do now…” Lane gazed sideway and he noticed the fade blood streaks where Anders had put his hand on his shoulder. He touched the spot with a gloved hand.

_“I’ll gladly help you make sure your magic doesn’t show in a burst of a flaming barn for instance.”_

The irony made a faint mocking smile tug at his mouth.

Too little, too late, he bit his lips in reminiscence. But as much as he wanted to feel nothing but loath for the healer, his effortless - too much effortless - kindness managed to get to him yet again. And for smidgen seconds made him consider back his beliefs and the possibility of finding something truly new and different. A new dawn for mages? An end to persecution…

 _“I refuse to see another mage suffer for a Maker’s given gift.”_ Fingers clutched into the bloodied white material of the coat. How did he make everything sound like hope not yet lost.

Was this what his father had felt too? _Who_ was this mage? What kind of objective was that…? He began to unbutton his coat.

“I don’t know what to do.”

The ethereal creature fluttered closer as the young boy started to water the smeared spot. She lifted a hand and with liquid delicacy, brought it to Lane’s cheek. And then she smiled.

Lane met her coral colored eyes. “I cannot keep on fumbling around like this. I stayed because I wanted to _do_ something. Because it’s unfair.” Even though he had just stepped out of the broken shell state he was left into; even though he was finally plodding into the outside world back again. And even though that alone was feeling like defying gravity, Lane had sit with himself and decided that _this_ , however sickening and disappointing it was, could also be a way to begin anew.

And if his return into society wasn’t as slow and smooth and he’d wished, he will soldier on and plow into it as unfeelingly as it plowed him to the ground once.

The siren rolled in the water, flapping her long tail leisurely and came back to look up at Lane.

“But I need a plan.” A pause. “I have picked on something yesterday.” The very, very beautiful creature watched in eventful attention as cogs ran behind the boy’s mind’s eye. She smiled. As if approvingly.

“It could be nothing and it could be a crank handle. But no matter the course, they will not get away like that.” Lane’s eyes darkened with a long since tempered anger and it made the grain of sands underneath him shake slightly while tiny pebbles scattered around rose a few inches in the air with a tremble for a goose bumps lasting moment. Then Lane cast his somber glare past the lady’s trunk and towards the horizon where the ocean blurred with the sky. And as if addressing someone a few miles above that horizontal line – as if addressing behind the blue and the altitude, he added, “I will not be stomped on again.”

The sea-creature smiled and outstretched her arms towards Lane. Wet fingers took hold of his cowl and brought it over the fair, blond head. “Hm?”

She smiled like a field of flowers blooming in a paradise prairie and splashed the water in the air with her hands, sending droplets around them. Lane watched as she repeated the action a second time with as much enthusiasm as a child playing for the first time in the beach and softened. “Oh, it’s going to rain,” he concluded. Pale orbs lifted up to note the clouds approaching slowly from afar.

He seized his coat still between his fingers and resumed his calm scrubbing.

“I’m sorry I have no violin anymore.”   

 

***

 

Of course Lane had to not miss the opportunity to get close to the mage and his new lover. Or rather, the invitation the healer gullibly outstretched to him. That was how he found himself sourly surrounded by the mismatched lot of the previous night, jotting down that they must be indeed a tight knitted group of friends. Lane observed with hooded eyes how they all interacted with each other, as they greeted one another or who they avoided greeting at all. The way the dwarf seemed to never stray too far from a dangerous looking crossbow, the way the dalish elf fidgeted timidly with her fingers a lot even though her eyes bubbled with sharp curiosity.

And Lane accepted to repeat the nerve-racking situation as an opportunity driven by a back-thought that was unlike last time, laced with a plan. 

Same people.

The dwarf claimed his chair at the front. The white haired elf seemed to avoid eye-contact with the dalish one, acknowledging all but Anders. The pirate kept many daggers close to her body. The guardswoman’s shield was a templar shield. Duly noted.

He turned to where Anders was greeting Hawke with a satisfied smile. The warrior put his hand on the man’s hip, holding him in place to say something in his ear. As quickly, the cowled boy glanced in the tattooed elf’s direction and sure enough, he saw how Fenris’ eye gave a small twitch as he subtly scowled at the two.

Lane still made himself as small as possible - an unnerving tension in his back from anyone in the Hanged Man who could be starting before they went upstairs. He sat in the same spot as yesterday, only Hawke this time, settled on the other side of the blond mage. Lane threw him an unimpressed side look.

“Lane, I’m so happy to see you back!” chirped Merrill.

Lane spoke a demure thank you.

“Oh yes, I thought perhaps Varric had some news for him,” Anders said with a hopeful smile toward Varric

“Sorry, Blondie, couldn’t do much yet on that side. The whole haul up is taking all my time and energy for the moment. And since my full fledged prat of a brother ran off, the guild needs someone behind the reins. Can’t tell you how much of it all is a headache to a watch a full room of dwarves sweating buckets in the pants for a solution.”

“Your brother was the leader?”

“I know you wonder how a greedy, kin-backstabbing halfwit could be anything’s leader,” Anders ticked up a brow. “Buut it’s true,” let out Varric with a shake of head.

“Sounds like a promotion to me,” chimed Hawke.

“Hah. Thanks, Hawke, for finding the good in every messed up situation.” Varric grinned. But he turned to the young boy with an apologetic brow. “I’m sorry, Lane.”

“It’s fine.”

The demurred reply somehow tugged at Varric a bit more than he thought. “Hey, don’t worry, meanwhile, you can count on us if you ever need anything,” he added with genuine keenness.

Lane regarded him flatly. “Thank you.”

Thus time and space filled with chatter, sometimes calm and collected, sometimes clamorous with shrieking from one side and booming from another. A few inquiries were thrown his way but Lane was prepared this time. Bearing in mind how Anders tried to bring the subject of mages on the table two times but was equally twice shut down for quote ‘spoiling the mood, sparkle-fingers.’

He filed up every interaction, every smirk, every tic and manner, and quickly came to understanding that Fenris, the oddly tattooed elf, harbored a barefaced loath toward mages and anything magic-related. Good thing he made the healer swear an oath to not reveal what Anders was unbendingly calling magic to the group. He wouldn’t lie and say he still felt queasy about it being discovered. After all, he didn’t trust the man and never indented to expose it in the first place. And Anders had looked as if stung in his pride when Lane asked of him with a peculiar fervency to keep it a secret. A heteroclite reaction Lane still had to comprehend but that left him more wary than anything, really.

Lane slid his gaze to the mage how was talking to Hawke, catching on something about an estate and also a slippery hand around the blond man’s hip for a perfunctory instant.

 It twisted his stomach in anger. And as it seemed, he was not the only one who noticed - nor felt the same.

Fenris looked on the edge of pulling a knife on the table. Instead, he pulled himself whole.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already,” jumped in Isabela.

“I need a drink.”

Isabela cocked a brow at the glass at his side then back at him. He drowned what was left of it aggressively and shot her a deadpan look. “Another one.”

Lane’s hands resting on his knees clutched into fists. He tuned out his surroundings while he counted in his head.

“I’m going to ask for a bowl of soup,” he softly declared as he rose up.

Anders, whose attention was completely drawn to the raven haired man to his right turned abruptly. “Oh, um, you want me to go with you?”

“No, it’s fine, I can do it myself.”

“Oh - sure, all right then.”

Lane found him at the bar.

Pale grays slanted.

He marched to where Fenris was seated and took the next stool.

“It is Fenris, right?”

Fenris jerked from his deep thought. A surprise ran over his face as he took in the cowled boy. “Uh, yes.”

Lane eased a small smile - the kind that would’ve looked great with greeting people if he tried to smile while greeting them though. That was why it took Fenris by more surprise. Also the sudden proximity with such… singular looks. Fenris himself wasn’t one to be moved by appearances at first sight, but he couldn’t deny that it happened when he first saw the boy the night before. Something about it was just _arresting._ Reminding Fenris of those symmetrically perfect and genderless statues in Tevinter, consummately sculpted with the same quintessential commitment they had for their precious dragons. 

So was the bloody eyeball behind that icy, blond veil of hair enough to disgust? Fenris didn’t know but he doubted it. But it did impart an unsettling quality to the otherwise flawless face.

For those who saw that was. Or even just knew.

Corff put the tankard in front of Fenris and turned to take Lane’s order when he blatantly stuttered on his unvaried ‘what will it be.’

“Glass of milk if there is, please,” he muttered quickly with his head down. It was too late anyway as Fenris watched the barkeeper’s face go from blushing to contort with confusion _and_ more awkward blushing.

Fenris didn’t know what to say or do around this new acquaintance so he took a sip of his ale.

“You form a beautiful couple.”

“Huh?” Fenris said around his gulp.

“You and Serah Hawke.” Lane smiled shyly.

Good thing he had already swallowed. “Uh—ex—excuse me?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to sound rude. I just… thought I’d tell you that you do,” Lane expressed innocently. He peeked at how the elf’s cheeks flushed for a second.  

“You—what - what makes you think that?”

“Well, I just assumed with the way you are with each other.”

When he was about to open his mouth, Corff came back with glass of milk filled neatly to the brim. He deposed it carefully in front of Lane.

“He—here you go. Is, uh, is that all?” the bartender asked softly with a hint of shyness Fenris never heard in the well-collected man’s demeanor. It made him spare a thought about the true age of the short haired blond keeper of the tavern.

“Yes, thank you.” Lane murmured, putting a coin on the table. Corff took it and specified that he would be just there if he needed anything.

“The way… we are with each other?” Fenris resumed swiftly when the man was out of earshot, his brow a mix between a frown and inquisitive eyebrow.

Lane tilted his head. “Yes. The way he was looking at you.”

Fenris regarded the boy for a moment before he dropped his head to his tankard. “I think you’ve got it mixed up. I am not Hawke’s lover.” The last word lipped with a strained edge as the man never used that word to describe himself. Lane noticed that by the sudden uneasiness surrounding the elf’s body.

Lane made sure to cock his head and sound doubly surprised when he said “Really?”

It made the man frown deeper. “Yes.”  

“Oh, I apologize. I just assumed with the way it looked.” And he took an innocent sip of his milk.

“You’re mistaken. Those… looks you might have noticed were probably pointed to another direction.”

“Another direction?”

Fenris dithered for a moment about it before finally letting out, “It’s the mage who’s Hawke’s lover.” A pause, “I mean… Anders.”

 “Really?”

“Yes.” He took another swallow of his drink, dropping the tankard with a bit more tawdriness.

“Oh… you… seem to not like him a lot.”

“Yes. For many reasons other than the fact that he’s a damned abomination,” Fenris reviled blatantly. Lane took note of the spitting tone and continued on his affable front.

“Oh, so… he’s a bad person?”

“More like a deceiving, surreptitious snake.” That made Lane seriously frown.

“Wh—what do you mean? Do you know something?”

Fenris stayed silent for an amount of time, exploring his reflexion on the liquid of his tankard. Then he turned his head toward Lane and looked him in the eye for a minute, as if gauging if he should share with the young boy. Lane stayed calm and compliant, returning the stare with an ingenuous one of his own until glassy greens succumbed to the vestal clear gray of Lane’s left eye.

“I… I do. I—I couldn’t stand watching Hawke be so… intimate and oblivious around that deceitful man. So I came here to think.”

Lane asked suspiciously, “Why do you say deceitful?”

The dark skinned elf marked another debating silence while taking a chug of ale. Putting the drink down, he professed “I saw something a while ago. Him… with a templar.”

 Lane’ eyes glinted dangerously but not enough to trouble his unfazed mask, nor his soft, gentle tone when he inquired, “Him and… a templar?”

“Yes.” Now Fenris looked confused himself, his knee slightly starting to joggle, Lane drank in his every micro-expression. The elf had more value than he had calculated, and Lane switched his mind into sharpened focus. “I didn’t completely understand what the whole story was but I saw how the templar held his arm and how the mage didn’t even riposte, how he spoke about a kiss, standing on a pool of blood from those bandits which that templar had _fend off_ of the mage.”

“The templar saved Anders?”

“I heard a loud shout; it was that templar threatening the kill the man if he ever hurt him again…” Fenris buried a hand in his flaxen bangs. He was still fuddled himself by this scene he had witnessed. “I mean at first I thought that blood was the mage’s until I saw the templar kneeling before him, then they spoke about a kiss and grabbed his arm and it all seemed like… like a bloody love quarrel?” Fenris said as he turned his puzzled stare to the boy.

Lane stayed quiet, staring back.

Fenris schooled his face then to a more stony look and _tch_ ed. “Whatever that was, I knew that mage was an underhanded, smarmy abomination. I don’t know what’s his deal with that templar but Hawke should know about this. Should know that he could be double-crossing him to this day,” he stated and lifted the wooden tankard to his mouth.

Lane’s eyes widened for a split second. “But would that be wise?”

“What?”

“I mean, if something happen, you’d only be known as the one who broke their relationship. I didn’t even think the two were together. They’re just so… different and distant from each other; perhaps you should give it a bit of time. Perhaps Serah Hawke already knows and he’s slowly shifting his eyes elsewhere.”

“I doubt it,” Fenris grumped. “What they have… it’s a recent development. Recent and precipitated development. They just came out of the expedition like that.”

“The Deep Road expedition?” Lane winced inwardly. He wasn’t supposed to know. Shit, he was taking by surprise from the new direction the discussion had veered to. He needed to get a grip on things.

“You know about that?”

“Anders told me.”

“Hm.” Fenris drank again. “He wasn’t even supposed to go…” he said somewhat morosely, “But the eve of the departure, Hawke changes everything and pull me off the expedition in order to include him.”

“So, that means you were planned to go with him first isn’t it?”

“Yes. That - damned abomination. I am sure something must have happened while in there. I keep wondering if I was the one who had gone…”

Lane observed the elf hunching his shoulders, unable to finish the sentence and its transparent meaning.

“I think you shouldn’t interfere. You want to be the friend he will feel no remorse about turned to because you would be far way and clean from all that mess. Don’t be the one who breaks them. Be the one he will seek for comfort when worse comes to worst.”

 Fenris raised his head and looked at him with surprise and inbred suspicion. “You… why are you saying all this? You don’t even know me.”

“I—I just want to help. I know I do not know either of you… but why wouldn’t I try to encourage you. You seem like a good person - at least until I find my sister.” Lane softly said and cupped the glass of milk in his gloved hands to take a tiny sip.

Fenris’ expression smoothed out as he took in the cowled boy and his shy, hesitant voice and manners. “… I am sensitive to your plight. My memory has been blurred but I guess if I have any family, it probably stayed in Tevinter. When you spoke about your sister, it stirred something in me… as if the term used to be something I also owned.”

“You lost your sister too?”

“I lost everything fleeing my ex-master.” Then he scoffed. “What am I saying; I didn’t lose anything. I had nothing to begin with. But my memory tilts with the blurry pictures of… a sister… somewhere.”

Lane listened attentively, absorbing all those details on the elf while snorting internally about the funny coincidence that the fictitious sister-lie turned to be the perfect tool to bond with his target.

He tipped his head. “Don’t worry, we will find them eventually.”

Fenris stared back at the boy, curious and quite smitten by the overall beautiful kid. He couldn’t even believe it as he shook his head to himself before saying, “So you think I should keep this to myself and not tell Hawke? But wouldn’t that be like… a betrayal?”

“If nobody saw you witnessing that… affair, then who is there to point you a betrayer? If others seize opportunities in dangerous expeditions, why shouldn’t you look for what benefit you too?” said Lane as he took an innocent sip.

Fenris looked at him stumped, like hit by the simplest truism.

 

***

 

After that they went back upstairs, Fenris with a new conviction, and Lane behind him, glad everything worked out according to plan and some more.

Anders was caught in a laugh when he entered, and halted, putting back some ethical space between him and the big warrior to ask why didn’t he bring his meal with him - not even aware of the time passed since he left.

Lane said he didn’t had enough for a meal so he just bought a glass of milk. The lines of mirth quickly washed off his face.

“Oh Maker, I totally forgot! I should’ve given you something!” he floundered with apprehension.

Hawke put a palm up against his chest, he too, coming off the highs of laughter and smirked swiftly like a hero to the rescue. “I’ll take care of it. My treat everyone.”

Lane watched him disdainfully.

Everybody drinking or eating, the evening droned on like the previous night, full of loud laughter, or arguments, tattle, games and hokum.

By the end, as everyone decided to take the little window they had where the downpour stopped to leave, Lane attended a repeat of last night’s scene.

“Why?!” Hawke said as lowly as possible in spite of his angriness, from where he dragged Anders in a corner.

“Garrett _, it’s raining!_ ” Anders retorted, ambers wide, deadpanning the evident.

This time Hawke wouldn’t be taken by surprise. “Well, he can stay here with us.”

“This is not an inn, Garrett! There’s barely a room left for us! Unless you plan to sleep of the floor or  make him share a bed with Isabela, I don’t see another solution.”

Hawke looked stung and irked. “But it’s getting bloody cold, you barely have a sheet for yourself in that place! You’ll be freezing the whole night.”

“Oh no, don’t worry I have a quite bunch of blankets!” Anders waved a hand, smiling largely.

Hawke spiked an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Y—Yes. I bought them—with the coin I kept from the Deep Roads.” They were actually the blankets Hayden had brought with him that period of time he made a habit of staying the nights with him in the clinic.

“I… well, it was on my mind to go together buy some for the clinic anyways.” Hawke looked a bit down as he rubbed the tip of his nose with the side of his long forefinger.

“It’s all fine then,” Anders said. He closed the little inches of distance and offered a pure, irresistible smile. “We’ll be all right, don’t worry. He’ll stay out in the rain if I don’t help him. You understand, right?” he prodded, smiling softly.

And what could Hawke really do beside indeed understand. He tried one last time. “How about we give him our room and I go back with you to the clinic?” He smiled flimsily, teasingly.

“Please, Garrett, let me stay the night with him?” Anders tipped his head, this time pleading with his eyes. Because he got how his lover wanted him by his side. And it hurt to hear the brittle quip they both knew would also be turned down, and he wasn’t overjoyed with sleeping away from Hawke again, but Lane was a mage and alone and so… inadequate to the world around him.

He could sacrifice his libido for such a cause. After all, it was what he’d learned to do since he’d been in Kirkwall.

From the other side, Lane watched as he won the battle. He turned to Fenris and sought his attention until their eyes met and he smiled briefly, tilling his cowl-covered head to where Hawke was stepping away from Anders.

Fenris’ ears pricked up and Lane got a subtle nod.

 

***

 

Nothing is more delusive than a smile.

And nobody knows that better than the ones who hide behind it.

Some show their teeth in apology for choosing to spend yet another night without their lovers.

Others adorn a patient smile to masks their feeling of rejection and simmering suspicions.

Others again, smile friendly to cover the secrets they decided to conceal from their friends.

And then, there is this rare smile, totally sincere.

_Lane watched from behind his shoulder as Fenris joined Hawke at the table, sitting beside him, the latter shuffling the cards._

It’s the smile of the one who knows that his problems will soon be over…


End file.
